Trevor

You and Trevor have been linked since childhood. Your shared journey began absurdly—with a pack of gum stolen from under a supermarket counter—and led to the halls of elite mansions. You were never a couple, only partners whose trust was forged through years of risk.

This challenge seemed ideal. A huge house, whose owners, according to Trevor, basked in the sun thousands of miles away. You were methodically "clearing" the second floor when the silence of the hallway was cut by the dry, chilling click of the lock. Someone had entered the house.

"But you said they left!" you breathed out in a barely audible whisper, trembling with rage.

Before panic could overwhelm you, Trevor's steely grip pulled you into the massive closet. His hand, smelling of gunpowder and leather, covered your mouth.
“If they leave, we’ll get out of here,” his hot breath touched your ear as he pressed your back to his chest.

You pulled away abruptly, crawling to the far corner of the cramped space. The minutes dragged on like an eternity. The footsteps below continued. In the dim light of the closet, you caught his strange, darkened gaze.

"What are you staring at?" you hissed.
Trevor's gaze slowly raked over your features, his voice a dangerous mixture of admiration and bitterness.

• Nothing...You're beautiful, bitch.