AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 60: Mikey and Mason

’Lucian really met Ethan...’

The thought kept replaying in Mason’s mind like a needle stuck on the same scratch of a record. What does it mean? he wondered bitterly. Does it mean they’re finally fixing things? Getting back together like nothing ever happened?

The bathroom door slammed harder than he intended, the echo bouncing off the tiled walls. He barely noticed. He strode straight to the sink, palms pressing against the porcelain as he lifted his head to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, eyes tense, jaw tight, a stranger wearing his face.

I can’t let that happen.

The thought surfaced, cold and sharp.

I have to make sure they never get together. I need a plan. Something that will tear them apart before they even realize they’re standing close again.

He twisted the tap open and splashed water onto his face, droplets sliding down his cheeks and chin, but the heat behind his eyes didn’t fade. When he looked back up, his reflection hadn’t softened. If anything, it looked more desperate, more cornered.

The door creaked open behind him.

Mason straightened slightly, water still clinging to his lashes as he glanced at the mirror. A boy with headphones around his neck walked in casually, barely sparing him a glance before heading for the stall. Mikey. Timothy’s friend. Loud, careless, always orbiting the wrong people.

That bastard’s friend, Mason thought, irritation flickering again. He turned off the tap, grabbed a paper towel, and began drying his hands, already planning to leave. He didn’t want conversation. He didn’t want witnesses. He just wanted space to think.

"So you wanna take revenge on Lucian."

The words cut through the tiled room with unsettling calm.

Mason froze mid-step.

He slowly turned his head. Mikey stood by the sink now, zipping his pants with one hand, the other adjusting his headphones. His expression wasn’t mocking, wasn’t angry,it was almost bored. That made it worse.

"What are you on about?" Mason asked, forcing his voice to stay even.

Mikey looked at him through the mirror instead of directly. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, like he’d just confirmed something amusing. "Relax," he said lightly. "Your secret’s safe with me."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A few taps. Then he tilted the screen toward Mason.

The image was unmistakable.

Mason’s breath caught.

It was him, outside the alley weeks ago, fist raised, mid-swing against one of the thugs. The lighting was grainy, the angle imperfect, but clear enough. Clear enough to tell a story he didn’t want told.

His stomach dropped.

He took an involuntary step back. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Mikey chuckled under his breath, turning the phone back to himself like it was nothing more than a meme he’d saved for later amusement. "You hit pretty hard," he added casually, washing his hands. "Didn’t expect that from you."

The water ran. The casualness of the moment was suffocating.

Mason’s mind raced. When did he take that? Who else has it? What does he want? Each question piled on top of the other until the air felt thinner, heavier. His earlier anger dissolved into something colder,unease mixed with calculation.

"You stalking me now?" Mason muttered.

Mikey shrugged. "Wrong place, right time. Cameras are everywhere, you know." He dried his hands, then leaned slightly closer, voice lowering just enough to feel personal. "People do crazy things when they’re scared of being replaced."

The implication hung between them.

Mason clenched his jaw but said nothing. Denial would be pointless. Anger would be worse. Mikey wasn’t confronting him,he was enjoying the leverage.

he added, almost cheerfully, "Don’t worry. I’m not your enemy... unless you make me one."

"Don’t worry, like i said before, your secret is safe with me," Mikey said, tone light, almost playful, like he was talking about a borrowed pen and not something that could ruin a life.

Mason’s fingers curled slightly at his sides.

How did he get a hold of that?

The question echoed louder than the running tap. Was someone there that night? Did someone see me?

No. That alley had been empty. He remembered checking,twice. The silence, the flickering streetlight, the way the shadows stretched long across the pavement. That’s impossible...

"What do you want?" Mason finally asked. The words came out lower than he intended, edged with a strain he couldn’t quite hide.

Above them, the speakers crackled to life, filling the tiled bathroom with the presenter’s booming voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, all the teams have fully settled on their spawn points and are more than ready to start the game—Team Purple, Orange, Blue, and Red..."

The excitement from the broadcast felt distant, unreal, like it belonged to another world entirely. Mason could almost picture the roaring crowd, the flashing lights, the revving engines—but here, inside the bathroom, everything felt suffocatingly small. Trapped between white tiles and a smirking witness.

"We all have the same goal."

Mikey’s voice sliced cleanly through the presenter’s enthusiasm, extinguishing it in Mason’s ears as if someone had lowered the volume of the entire world.

Mason looked at him.

Mikey wasn’t smiling now. His expression had flattened into something colder, more deliberate. "I want you to help me destroy Lucian Dastin," he said. "For good."

The words didn’t rise. They didn’t need to. They settled heavily in the air, thick as smoke.

Mason’s eyes widened, his heartbeat stumbling over itself. Destroy Lucian. Not sabotage, not inconvenience,destroy. The finality of it made his throat tighten. For weeks his thoughts had been full of anger, jealousy, plans half-formed and abandoned, but hearing it said out loud,so plainly felt different. It was like someone had taken the ugliest part of his mind and given it a voice.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the chill running through him was fear... or temptation.

Outside the bathroom walls, the stadium erupted.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to announce—CAPTURE THE FLAG has officially started! Good luck to all teams!"

Cheers thundered through the speakers, engines roared to life, and somewhere beyond those walls the race had begun—fast, loud, unstoppable.

Inside, however, time felt suspended.

Mason stood silent, caught between two arenas: one lit by stadium lights and roaring crowds, the other lit by fluorescent bulbs and quiet threats. One was a public competition with clear rules and visible winners. The other was personal, shadowed, and far more dangerous.

Mikey slipped his phone back into his pocket, as if he had simply suggested grabbing lunch instead of proposing the downfall of a person. "Think about it," he added, already turning toward the door. "Opportunities like this don’t come twice."

The door opened, then closed.

The cheers from the speakers swelled again, vibrating faintly through the walls. Mason remained where he was, staring at the empty doorway, his reflection visible in the mirror to his left, two versions of himself caught in the same moment.

On the track, flags were being chased.

In the bathroom, a different kind of hunt had just begun.