Chapter 113 Breaking Point
Alex：POV
I lowered my head, staring at the floor between us. The weight of Daniel's expectations hung in the air, suffocating me. How had we ended up here? From best friends to... whatever this mess was.
"We're impossible, Daniel," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to step outside normal life. Can't you just forget that night happened? I'll do whatever I can to make up for hurting you, but not... that."
Daniel let out a bitter laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "You want me to forget?" He took a step closer, his body radiating tension. "You want to 'make up for my loss'? Great idea, Alex. How about this—you let me fuck you this time. You on the bottom, me on top."
I jerked my head up, eyes wide.
"I only let you top that night because I was worried about hurting you," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "But normally? I'm the one who takes control."
My mouth went dry. The raw aggression in his eyes was something I'd never seen before—not even when he'd fought Trevor in the desert.
"Daniel, stop—"
"Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable to hear the truth?" He advanced toward me, each step deliberate and predatory. "Because it forces you to acknowledge what happened between us?"
I backed away, my calves hitting the coffee table. "This isn't you. You're not like this."
"You don't know me, Alex. Not really." His eyes flashed. "You think you do, but you've only seen what I've allowed you to see."
He moved closer still, invading my personal space. My back hit the wall—nowhere left to retreat.
"I've been in love with you for years." His voice cracked slightly. "But I could only silently stay by your side, listening to you talk about your crushes on this girl or that girl; to keep you from being taken by someone else, I'd use little tricks on those girls; and they'd willingly end up with me instead. Come to think of it, your taste in women really isn't that great."
"You... I can't give you what you want," I said, my throat tight. "Not this. Anything but this."
"Not what?" His face was inches from mine now. "Not a relationship? Or not sex? Because your body had no problem with the sex part in the desert."
Heat rushed to my face—shame, anger, confusion.
"Not either," I insisted. "I'm not gay, Daniel. That night was... I was drunk. Confused. It wasn't real."
"Bullshit." He slammed his palm against the wall beside my head, making me flinch. " I felt you. But we definitely did make love that night. I heard you. I know exactly what sounds you make when you come."
I shoved at his chest. "Back off. I mean it."
"No," he said simply. "Not until you admit the truth."
"What truth?" I shouted, my patience snapping. "That I fucked my best friend? Fine! I admit it! But it was a mistake I won't repeat!"
"No, the truth that you enjoyed it. That you wanted it." His voice softened dangerously. "That maybe, just maybe, you feel something for me too."
"I don't," I insisted, but even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow.
"There's only one way to find out," he murmured, leaning in closer.
"No, don't—" I started, but the words died in my throat.
"Don't what?" His breath was warm against my lips. "Don't do this?"
Before I could answer, he closed the distance, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss again. This one was demanding, hungry, almost punishing. One hand cupped my jaw, forcing my face up to meet his, while the other slid boldly down my body, finding its way between my legs, fingers gripping my penis.
For one shameful moment, my body responded. My lips parted slightly, my breath catching in my throat. But then reality crashed back, and white-hot rage replaced any momentary weakness.
I tore my face away and slapped him hard across the cheek, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.
"I'm fucking disappointed in you," I spat, chest heaving with anger. "I thought you were better than this."
Daniel stumbled back, his hand rising to his reddened cheek. The shock in his eyes quickly morphed into something worse—a deep, wounded understanding.
"So that's how it is," he said, his voice eerily calm now. "You know what, Alex? You're right. This was a mistake."
He straightened his shoulders, his face hardening into a mask. "Fine, you win. We'll do this your way. We're done. No more friendship, no more anything. Complete radio silence—just like you wanted."
"Daniel, that's not what I—"
He didn't respond and strode toward the door, his movements stiff with controlled fury. At the threshold, he paused, not looking back.
"Have a nice life, Alex."
The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through my empty apartment. Just like that, years of friendship—gone.
I collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in my hands. "Fuck," I whispered. "I didn't want this. I never wanted this. Why couldn't we go back?"
My eyes burned, but no tears came. Instead, a hollow ache spread through my chest, as if something vital had been ripped out.
I stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. No glass—I drank straight from the bottle, wincing as the liquor burned down my throat.
"I wasn't trying to hurt him," I mumbled to the empty room, taking another swig. "I just can't be what he wants."
The alcohol worked quickly on my empty stomach. I slumped back onto the sofa, the room beginning to spin slightly.
As my eyelids grew heavy, my thoughts drifted to Daniel—not the angry, wounded man who'd just stormed out, but the Daniel I'd known for years. Daniel laughing at my jokes. Daniel helping me move apartments. Daniel standing up for me against Trevor in the desert.
Suddenly I wasn't in my apartment anymore.
I was in my kitchen, but everything looked slightly distorted, the edges too sharp, the colors too vivid. Standing at the stove was Daniel, his back to me. He wore a sheer white t-shirt that clung to his muscular back, revealing more than it concealed. Below, he wore nothing but tight boxer briefs.
"Morning, sleepyhead," dream-Daniel said, turning to face me with a smile that made my stomach flip. "Coffee's ready."
I couldn't move, couldn't speak. I just stared at him, at the way his body moved with casual confidence, at the domestic ease with which he navigated my kitchen.
Dream-Daniel approached, that same smile playing at his lips. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne, could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Cat got your tongue?"
His hand reached up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip. My heart hammered against my ribs, my breath catching in my throat.
"I—" I started, but whatever I was about to say was lost as dream-Daniel leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from mine...