Jack had never felt so utterly broken. It had been exactly seven days since Felix vanished on that evening walk—seven endless days of pacing their cramped college apartment, staring at his phone like it might summon Felix back from whatever nightmare had swallowed him whole. Jack, at 18, was the kind of guy who commanded attention: tall and broad-shouldered, with tousled bck hair that always looked effortlessly cool, a sharp wit that made him the center of every party, and a teasing, bullying streak that hid his fiercely protective heart. But now? He was a shell. Funny? Gone. Popur? Irrelevant. All that mattered was Felix—his short, fiery boyfriend with the long blond hair that cascaded like sunlight, big brown eyes that sparkled with mischief, freckles dusting his beautiful face like stars, and a bratty confidence that could flip to anger in a heartbeat. Felix was caring underneath it all, the one who made Jack feel whole. Without him, Jack was adrift.

  Their friends had crashed at the apartment for days now, a makeshift family trying to hold him together. Mia, the no-nonsense psych major; Tyler, the id-back artist; and Alex, the med student with a knack for patching up te-night mishaps. They'd taken turns cooking, forcing Jack to eat, and distracting him with bad movies. But tonight, as the clock ticked past midnight, Jack sat slumped on the couch, staring at a photo of Felix grinning mischievously at the camera, his freckled cheeks flushed from a hike they'd taken st month.

  The doorbell rang—a sharp, insistent buzz that cut through the heavy silence. Jack's heart lurched. "Who the hell...?" he muttered, hauling himself up. The others stirred from their spots around the living room, exchanging wary gnces.

  He yanked open the door, and time stopped.

  Felix.

  There he was, looking like a ghost of himself—exhausted, pale, his long blond hair tangled and matted, big brown eyes red-rimmed and shadowed. He was wearing nothing but an oversized gray shirt that hung to mid-thigh, no pants, no underwear, his bare legs marked with ugly bruises and shallow cuts that snaked up his upper thighs. Two police officers stood behind him, their faces grim but relieved.

  "Jack!" Felix's voice cracked, a sob breaking free as he unched himself forward. He jumped into Jack's arms, wrapping his legs around Jack's waist in a desperate cling, his small frame trembling against Jack's taller one. Jack caught him instinctively, strong arms locking around Felix's back, and the world blurred as tears flooded his eyes.

  "Felix... oh God, Felix," Jack choked out, burying his face in the crook of Felix's neck, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of him mixed with something sharp and unfamiliar—fear, sweat, dirt. They both started crying, raw and unrestrained, Jack's broad shoulders shaking as he held Felix tighter, like if he let go, he'd vanish again.

  The door banged open wider as their friends rushed over. "Felix!" Mia gasped, tears streaming down her face. Tyler whooped in disbelief, and Alex hovered, eyes scanning Felix with quiet concern. They piled in, a group hug enveloping them—arms around arms, sobs mixing with relieved ughter. The officers stepped inside awkwardly, giving them space.

  After a minute, the questions started. "What happened? Where were you? Are you okay?" Tyler fired off, while Mia turned to the officers. "Officers, please—tell us everything."

  Jack didn't let go. He sank to the floor with Felix still wrapped around him, cradling his boyfriend like a lifeline. His eyes raked over Felix, taking in the exhaustion etched into every line of his beautiful face, the way his freckles stood out starkly against his pallor. Those bruises on his thighs—dark purple blooms and red welts—twisted Jack's gut. He knew, with a sickening certainty, there were more hidden. On his ass, his back. The implications hit like a punch: viotion, pain, horrors Jack couldn't yet fathom. But he shoved it down, focusing on Felix's warmth against him.

  "Hey, baby," Jack whispered, voice thick. "I've got you. You're safe now."

  Felix nodded weakly, but his eyes were heavy, fluttering as if sleep was pulling him under. Jack shrugged off his jacket—a worn leather thing—and tied it gently around Felix's waist, covering him as best he could. The shirt rode up too easily, and Jack wouldn't let anyone see more than they had to. Not yet.

  Their lips met then, a soft, desperate kiss that tasted of salt and relief. Felix's mouth was chapped, his breaths shaky, but he melted into it, small hands fisting Jack's shirt. They kissed for what felt like forever, slow and reassuring, until Felix's head lolled against Jack's shoulder, his body going limp with exhaustion.

  The officers cleared their throats. While Jack held Felix, the friends gathered around, and the police id it out in clipped, professional tones. "We found him in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. A tip line led us there—looks like a group of lowlifes, maybe trafficking ring. He's been through hell, but he's stable. We'll need statements tomorrow, but for now, get him checked out. Hospital if possible."

  Details trickled in: bound for days, minimal food, dehydration. And then the heavier part—the reason for the bruises, the cuts. The officers hesitated, gncing at Jack, but Mia pressed. "Tell us. He needs to know."

  Jack shifted Felix in his p as the police left, promising to follow up. He stood carefully, lifting Felix bridal-style—his boyfriend was so light, so fragile right now—and they all migrated to the living room. The couch creaked under their weight as Jack sat, settling Felix across his p.

  Felix stirred almost immediately, a violent wince twisting his face. He let out a sharp cry, tears spilling anew as he curled in on himself.

  "Baby? What's wrong?" Jack panicked, hands hovering, afraid to touch. "Felix, talk to me—did I hurt you?"

  Felix shook his head frantically, blond hair whipping. "N-no... just... hurts," he whimpered, shifting onto his side so his head rested on Jack's thigh, his body angled away from any pressure on his lower half. His legs drew up protectively, the jacket slipping to reveal more of those thigh bruises.

  The friends exchanged knowing looks—Mia biting her lip, Tyler rubbing his neck, Alex frowning deeply. Jack's jaw tightened. "What aren't you telling me? What did the cops say? All of it."

  They hesitated, but Mia spoke first, voice gentle. "Jack... they think he was... raped. Sexually abused. Multiple times, by the looks of it. The bruises, the cuts—they're consistent with... restraints, force. He fought back, but there were at least three or four guys. They didn't say much more, but it's bad."

  As they spoke, detailing the warehouse, the bindings, the signs of repeated assault, Felix started crying harder—sobs that wracked his small frame. "Stop! Please, stop talking!" he begged, voice muffled against Jack's leg. "Jack, I don't want you to know... you'll leave me. You have to leave me now, I'm... I'm dirty. Ruined. Please don't hate me..."

  Jack's heart shattered. He leaned down, kissing Felix's tear-streaked face over and over—forehead, cheeks, the bridge of his freckled nose. "Shh, baby, never. Never leaving you. You're mine, always. I love you." The kisses seemed to ground him a little, Felix's breaths evening out between hiccups, though his big brown eyes were wide with fear.

  The friends finished, voices low. "Cops said he wouldn't let anyone touch him—not medics, not us. They want you to check him over, Jack. Make sure nothing's... worse."

  Jack nodded, resolve hardening his features. "I will." He scooped Felix up again, ignoring the weak protest. "Come on, love. Let's get you cleaned up."

  In the bathroom, the fluorescent light was harsh, illuminating every mark. Jack locked the door, setting Felix on the counter gently. "Okay, baby. Shirt up—just a little. Let me see."

  Felix trembled but nodded, lifting the hem. Jack's breath caught. The backs of his thighs were a map of abuse—bruises blooming like storm clouds, cuts scabbed over. His ass was worse: red welts, handprints faded but visible, and deeper purple where something heavier had struck. Jack's hands shook as he fetched the first-aid cream from the cabinet—their cabinet, stocked from zy mornings after rough, loving sex when Felix's ass would ache sweetly.

  "Poor baby," Jack murmured, voice breaking. "This is... God, Felix, I'm so sorry." He squeezed cream onto his fingers, waiting. "Can I... apply this? On the worst spots?"

  Felix nodded, biting his lip, still on his side. Jack worked gently, rubbing the soothing lotion into the bruised flesh, his touch protective, not probing. But then he had to ask, voice barely above a whisper. "Does... does your asshole hurt, baby? We have stuff for that, remember? From before."

  Felix's face flushed crimson, tears welling again. He nodded, a fresh sob escaping. Jack knew then—it wasn't embarrassment. They'd been naked around each other constantly, casual and intimate, Felix never shy about showing Jack everything. This was pain, deep and vioting.

  "Alright, love. Bend over the sink for me? Just a quick look." Jack helped him, steadying those narrow hips. He spread Felix's cheeks gently, and the sight hit like a gut punch: dried cum crusted around his hole, leaking slightly, a testament to the horrors. Jack's vision blurred with rage and sorrow as he grabbed a warm cloth, cleaning it away with infinite care—wiping, soothing, whispering apologies.

  Underneath, the damage: his asshole was split, torn in pces, swollen and raw. Jack had no clue how to handle that. He applied more cream, the numbing kind they'd used post-sex, but it wasn't enough. "Baby, I... I need help. Alex is a med student. Just to look, okay? I won't let him hurt you."

  Felix whimpered, straightening and pulling the shirt down, covering himself. "No! Embarrassed... don't want him seeing."

  Jack knelt, cupping Felix's face—those big brown eyes pleading. "Hey, brat. You're safe with me. Alex is family. He won't judge. And I need to make sure you're okay. Please? For me?"

  Reluctant tears, but a nod. Jack carried him back to the living room, where Alex waited with a kit. Felix was not happy—pouting, arms crossed—but Jack coaxed him. "Bend over, love. Hold onto me."

  Felix bent, gripping Jack's waist like a lifeline, burying his face in Jack's shirt. Jack held him tight, one hand stroking his hair. "Good boy. I've got you."

  Alex worked quickly, gloved hands professional. "Torn pretty bad—needs stitches. Three or four, tops. It'll heal clean."

  Felix panicked, trying to bolt upright. "No! Jack, don't—"

  Jack held him down lightly, firm but gentle, murmuring, "Shh, baby. It'll be quick. I love you—trust me." Alex stitched with steady precision, numbing gel helping, but Felix whimpered through it, tears soaking Jack's shirt.

  When it was done, Alex stepped back. "Keep it clean. Cream twice a day. Hospital tomorrow for full check, but this'll hold."

  Felix straightened, furious, shoving at Jack's chest. "You made me! I hate you!" He was pouting, bratty fire flickering through the vulnerability, but his legs wobbled.

  Jack sighed, scooping him up despite the filing. "I know, love. Come on." He carried Felix to their bedroom, the familiar space a sanctuary—posters on the walls, rumpled sheets from a week ago. He set Felix down gently, but Felix's eyes widened in fear. "Jack? Don't... don't leave."

  "Not going anywhere." Jack stripped to his boxers and slid into bed, pulling Felix into his arms. Felix pouted still, arms crossed, but Jack turned him gently onto his side, bending his hips just enough. "Apology time, baby."

  Before Felix could protest, Jack leaned down, pressing soft kisses to the curve of his bruised ass—light, reverent, over the welts and the freshly stitched skin. "Sorry for making you do that. So sorry."

  Felix squeaked, mortified at first, face fming. "Jack! Stop—embarrassing!" But Jack persisted, kisses turning pyful, nipping gently at undamaged skin. A giggle escaped Felix, then a ugh—bright and real, cutting through the tension. "Okay, okay! You're ridiculous."

  They cuddled then, Felix nestled against Jack's chest, Jack's hand rubbing soothing circles over his ass. Felix didn't mind—in fact, he arched into the touch, a soft sigh escaping, his body rexing for the first time. The cream and stitches dulled the worst, and Jack's warmth chased away the chill.

  Sleep came for Felix quickly, his breaths evening out. But Jack y awake, fury simmering beneath his protectiveness. How could anyone hurt his baby like this?

  Felix's dreams were a storm. He was back there—over the p of a hulking man, strong arms pinning him like iron. The spanking started without mercy, hand crashing down on his bare ass, each smack a firebrand that made him cry out. "Stop! Please!" Felix screamed, tears streaming, but the man didn't falter. He was into it—eyes gleaming with sick arousal—and this was punishment for trying to run, for fighting back.

  Felix kicked wildly, legs filing since his hands were tied behind his back with rough rope that bit into his wrists. "Let me go! You bastard!"

  Laughter from the shadows—other guys watching, some stroking themselves, others jeering. One stepped forward, grabbing Felix's ankles, tying his feet together with a belt. "Here, use this," he said, handing over a thick leather one. "More effective."

  The first sh of the belt was agony—worse than anything. It whistled through the air, cracking across his cheeks, his thighs, turning skin to welts and fire. Felix had been spanked before—once by his dad, right after coming out as gay. Jack had been there, barely dating him a few weeks, offering support. That had been humiliating, bare over his knee in the living room, but quick. This? Torture. Ten times worse. The belt bit deeper, each strike drawing screams, and the audience egged it on—ughing, commenting on his cries, his freckled skin blooming red.

  When it finally ended—ass throbbing, unable to sit— the man threw him to the cold floor. Then the real hell: raped, over and over, different guys taking turns for four endless hours. Bodies pressing, invading, Felix's screams ignored as they used him, ughed, left him leaking and broken.

  "No! Stop!" Felix thrashed in his sleep, screams tearing from his throat. The apartment stirred—friends murmuring, footsteps—but Jack was there first, shaking him gently.

  "Felix! Baby, wake up—it's me. You're safe."

  Felix jolted awake, sobbing, clinging to Jack. "Jack... dream... they spanked me, so hard, with a belt... then... then they..." He broke, vulnerable in a way Jack had rarely seen, his confident brat stripped bare. "My ass hurts so bad... it felt real. Don't let them take me again."

  Jack held him tight, rocking them both. "Never, love. I swear. Just a dream." He kissed away tears, murmuring nonsense until Felix's sobs quieted, exhaustion pulling him under again.

  Jack slipped out carefully, finding the friends in the kitchen. "Nightmare," he said quietly. "About the... what they did. Spanking, then the rape. He's terrified."

  Mia nodded. "We heard. What now? Cops?"

  "Tomorrow. But tonight, we watch him. No one touches him but me."

  Felix woke again minutes ter, whimpers echoing. He couldn't walk—legs like jelly, ass screaming—but he dragged himself out, silent tears tracking down his face, convinced Jack had left. "Jack?" His voice cracked in the hall.

  "Here, baby!" Jack rushed, catching him as Felix ran—well, stumbled—into his arms. "Shh, not leaving. Ever."

  Felix sagged, letting Jack pick him up. They returned to the living room, Felix dozing on Jack's chest as the group huddled. "Game pn," Jack said firmly. "Cops in the morning—full report. Alex, you come for the hospital run? Therapy lined up—Mia, you know people? And... protection. These bastards are out there."

  Tyler nodded. "On it. We'll rotate stays."

  Alex added, "Antibiotics, check for STIs. He's tough, but..."

  Felix stirred, blinking up at Jack. "Cold... can we go to bed? Please?"

  Jack smiled softly, carrying him back. "Anything, love." In the dim room, he tucked them under the covers, kissing Felix's face—eyelids, cheeks, lips—until those big brown eyes drifted shut, freckled shes fluttering.

  But as Jack held him, watching the rise and fall of Felix's chest, questions lingered. How deep did the scars go? And what came next for them, in this fragile aftermath?