Red Room Society of Silence chapter.
Five the. Final name.
The mirror didn't hum anymore. It breezed a breast that filled
the corridor. Pressing against velvet skin and
the stone walls that have been seen too much.
The. Hour of ending had come no more.
Choices. No more illusion of control
where once there were. 5. Now only two remained and the
mirror was no longer watching. It was remembering.
The hallway the air was. Heavier now, Ethan stood at the
edge of Room 1's. Door his.
Hands were. Too still.
His eyes. Fixed ahead.
Seem more than he wanted to. At the.
Far end June stood near Room 5 Sketchbook.
Clutched to his side like a relic.
Skin cooling. Breath shallow.
Their gaze met across. The Velvet.
Hush, not accusing, only understanding.
Neither spoke. What was left to say?
Then a sound, and the mirror exiled again.
June's voice came. First soft, as if afraid to
break the air. Last hour.
Ethan nodded. Voice.
Low dry the rooms. Already decided?
A pause. Not of hesitation, but
recognition. June took a slow.
Step forward. Not toward Ethan, not toward any
door. Just closer to the truce.
Hanging between them. You still think we're walking
out of this, Ethan? Mouths twitched.
Not a smile. A memory of 1.
We are. Already inside it, the doors
unlatched 2 at once and the mirror patient endless.
Waited. For the final breath, Room 1,
Ethan. The door sealed.
Behind him. Soft.
Final certain. Velvet.
Swallowed the sound. The doubt.
The hesitation. The boy was.
Waiting. Blindfolded.
He. Thought it would be another
empty hour. No footsteps, no touch.
His guard had slipped. His hand moved, reaching, not
pleading, not inviting. Just tired of the dark.
That small human. Gesture Crack.
Something in the Ethan? He stepped forward, slow.
Let his hand hover over. The boys.
And then contact, fingers brushing, palms aligning.
The boy exhaled, soft like relief.
That didn't expect. To be heard.
Ethan knelt. His breaths.
Quickened, his hand tightened over the.
Boys. You're my price, he.
Thought. But didn't say he moved.
Closer. His other hand.
Trace the boy's throat, jaw, the edge.
Of the blindfold, the boy didn't flinch, didn't lean.
Just stayed. That steadiness unraveled.
Ethan, his mouse, found the boy. 'S throat.
Not to. Hurt to.
Taste. Slow at first.
Then harder, marking skin with breath, with tongue, with need.
His hand moved down, deliberate and.
There. In the.
Hush of the room he took. Not cruel, not tender.
Like victory. Earned.
Like proving to himself. He could.
When it was over, when he pulled back, breathless, spent.
He felt it. The win.
The proof? The claim the freshman beneath
him had folded just enough had given him the reaction he
craved, and yet it wasn't enough.
It tasted. Thin.
It tasted old. It tasted like.
Everything the mirror had been feeding him, but nothing he
actually needed. He stepped back, fixed his
clothes, left the. Boy as he found him.
Flashback The beach four years ago.
The salt dare. The way the sun made June skin
glow. Gold fragile.
June laughing. Breathless I.
Can't, Ethan said. Not cruel.
Not. Cold just.
Done. June's smile.
Faltered what? Do you mean?
Ethan looked at him. Really looked.
The men who saw him, the men who drew him.
And that. Was the problem.
June didn't reach for him, didn't beg.
He just sat in the sand. Like the tide had already.
Pulled him under. The photo.
The one Leo once saw was taken right after Rooms 2. 3.
And four, the rooms that remembered nothing.
Room two opened first. Inside, nothing.
No boy, no breath, no waiting. Velvet undisturbed.
A chair offered. But never claimed stillness so
complete it felt unnatural. 2 Crimson robed cleaners stepped
in. Their feet made no sound. 1
paused in the doorway, listening for a.
Trace of heat of breath. Of anything, the other moved to
the center. Adjusted a.
Cushion that didn't need straightening.
Smoothed fabric that hadn't been touched.
They left together the door. Closed behind them a.
Click that felt. Like a sigh, Room 3's door
creaked open like an old confession the air smelled
faintly of. Bleach of steel.
Of memory. Too carefully.
Wiped clean, two more Crimson shapes entered this room.
Remembers nothing, one said. As if.
Speaking had made it true. The other lingered by the
mirror, watched. Their blurred.
Shaping glass that reflected nothing back.
The room was perfect again, too. Perfect.
They left the door shut. The lock turned room.
For the. Room that hadn't decided.
What to forget? The air was heavy, stale.
Was drink. Sour was.
Carelessness, the. Boy was still there, red, short.
Loosened lips. Parted breasts shallow.
Two cleaners approached, one touched.
His wrist. Counted beats.
Alive, the other lifted. His hand gently wiped.
His brow with a. Cloth that smelled of clean
things, things the room had long lost.
Together they helped him stand, his feet on shore, his body
plank a drift between sleep and memory.
They let him through the hidden door, the one only cleaners
knew. That swallowed boys whole.
And speed out, No question. One of the cleaners glanced back
at the glass on the table. At the shadow of the couch, it's
easier to. Clean.
He said softly. Then to take the chair.
No reply. They.
Straighten what? What's left the door sealed.
The lock engaged a final click. Sharp as a.
Closing eye and the light went out Room 5 June.
The door. Closed behind him.
Soft. Sure.
The velvet seemed thicker. Heavy was memory.
Heavy was. Everything June had tried to
control. The boy.
Waited, blindfolded, still not braced, not.
Folded just. Waiting June.
Froze Sketchbook. In one hand, control in the
other, both slipping. He stepped forward, slow.
Deliberate until he could. Feel the boy's.
Breath between them. He didn't touch him, didn't
speak. Then June lifted his gaze to the
mirror. It watched it always.
Watched. And for the first time, he
asked. A whisper.
A plea he hadn't meant to make. Will you let him draw me?
The mirror shimmered. June's fingers trembled as he
united the blindfold on the. Boy, the clothes felt soft.
As breast into the boy's. Lap.
The boy blinked, adjusting not too light.
But to possibility flashback 4 years ago.
June had it meant for it. To get this far, the kiss was
too fierce. Too hungry.
The cup of pencils clattered. To the floor.
And the sketchbook, the one he'd been working on before Ethan.
Arrived, slipped the pages. Fell open, spilling across the
floor. June.
Froze, He. Saw Ethan's gaze drop Ethan
Crouch and reaching for the page like he found treasure.
You drew me. His voice was low.
Almost gentle, and that made. It worse.
June's hands move fast, sweeping the drawings into a pile.
His fingers shook. Can I draw you?
June looked up. And the word.
Was out before he could stop it. Sharp.
Final No later June would remember this night, how Ethan
had looked at him like he was something to be understood.
How the? Sketches on the floor had felt
like confessions he had meant to make, and how saying no had felt
like the only way. To survive.
That moment. But also the start of.
Losing Ethan in ways that would haunt him long after June placed
a sketchbook in his hands. I don't want to.
Hold it anymore. No command, no seduction.
Just truth, the boy. Raised the pencil.
Steady. Sure.
June sat down. Took off his shirt.
Let himself be seen. The pencil moved.
June felt it. The rise.
The warmth, the heat. Not from touch, from being seen
when the boy offered. The sketchbook back.
June stared. At it, there he was.
Not the June he tried to control, The June that room had
always seen undone. Aroused.
Human and. Still it.
Wasn't enough. The hallway.
The doors to Room 5 close behind Drum.
From the far end, Room 1's door opened.
Ethan stepped out slower than he meant.
To like each step. Cost him more than he.
Expected their. Eyes met and for a moment.
They both thought they'd be the last.
June looked of him. Ethan's jaw tightened, but he
couldn't hide the break in his eyes.
A bitter half smile. I saw it you.
Let him draw you. Is.
That how you win now, June didn't flinch, didn't argue.
No. He said.
And this time, his voice was almost gentle.
I just stopped hiding Ethan's breast.
Caught like. He hated how much that landed.
And then? The space.
Between them vanished. June's hands gripped Ethan's
shirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric.
As their kiss. Deepened, like trying to undo
four years of silence in a single moment.
Ethan's hand trembled at June's sides.
Not from passion, from everything he hadn't said.
Everything he thought he. Buried.
And then June broke the. Kiss.
Just enough to look at him. To really look.
At him, Ethan's eyes, they weren't hungry anymore.
And with that. He pushed.
Ethan back. Ethan's shoulders hit the mirror
like the room itself was catching him.
And for. A breathless.
Second. Both of them stared at that
reflection, Ethan's eyes wide. With horror.
The kind that comes too late. The kind that sees what's been
done and knows it can't be undone.
And the mirror. It took.
It all in it fed, silent and patient.
Because this this was. What it had been waiting.
For the. Campus 9:00 in the morning,
students moved in. Clusters.
Backpacks. Swinging voices.
Loud. Among them.
Walked a boy dark girls. Unruly from sleep, skin sun
warmed. His feature bore the.
Soft angles of the Middle East, brows knit in thought, mouth
set, as if holding back a question he hadn't dared to.
Ask. He moved slower than the rest.
Not lost, just listening. As if.
Word was telling a story, only he.
Could hear his gaze flickered across the.
Quad min beneath the oak, a sandwich untouched, staring at
nothing, as if his hunger had been replaced by memory.
Yuki. On the.
Library steps. A book open in his lap, but his
eyes miles beyond the pages, watching for what no one else
could see. And then two seniors pass
nearby, Ethan among them. His shirt was.
Rumpled. As hid, he dressed in a hurry.
The friend walked. Close voice lowered.
But. Urgent.
You hear about it yet Ethan didn't look at him.
About what? The crash.
Early this morning, out past the main road, they're saying Leo
freshman. A pause.
Ethan Stride faltered. Just slightly dead?
He asked, voice careful. Too careful.
His friend hesitated. No one's saying it, but yeah.
The boy. The one watching.
Slowed his steps. He didn't mean to.
Eavesdrop, but the. Words clung to him.
Crash dead. Ethan didn't speak again.
Just. Kept walking faster now his
friend followed. Later.
The boy we've been following closed his dorm room.
Door peeled off his shirt. And there it was.
A folded cart. The red wax cracked.
The seal mark was a single watching I.
You stayed through the first choice, through every room.
Through the final hour. Thank you for stepping inside.
This had been Red Broom Society of Silence.
Five names, 5 doors.