C | Chapter 1.4 | The Stranger | Crack in the Ordinary

Ignoring Ian’s comment, the man struggled to put on his shirt, leaving the front unbuttoned—it was too much hassle to fasten alone. His athletic, perfectly toned torso remained exposed, every muscle defined with effortless precision.

Ian let out a quiet chuckle, amused by the irony. He wasn’t the type to admire another man’s physique, yet here he was.

“Thanks for saving me,” Ian finally muttered, his tone lacking any real gratitude. The man nodded silently, equally unaffected by any sense of heroism.

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“Why did you save me?”

The man turned his head slightly, revealing a hint of emotion.

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“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’m not saying you should have left me to die, but… isn’t it odd? That you just happened to be at my house twice and then happened to save me.”

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Ian’s gaze held a sharp distrust. No matter how he thought about it, these repeated encounters weren’t just coincidences. He had even considered the possibility that the man might be the arsonist. But then, why would he risk himself to save Ian?

Still, the man’s presence felt intentional, like an unseen hand pulling the strings of fate.

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“Do you have some kind of purpose? Do you want something from me?”

The man gave a slow smile that seemed to convey, Trust me, I’m harmless, though, to Ian, it felt more like the kind of smile a shady person would use to disarm their victim.

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“No such interest.”

“Then why were you hanging around my house?”

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“I was just scouting the area, thinking of buying a place nearby.”

“If that’s the case, you should’ve gone to a realtor.”

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“I wanted to get a feel for the neighborhood myself.”

The man’s answers were smooth, giving no room to probe further. But just because Ian couldn’t argue didn’t mean he believed the man.

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Fine, whatever, he thought. If he has business with me, he’ll have to come clean eventually.

Ian jumped off the hospital bed.

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“Good luck finding a place. It’s a decent neighborhood, though a bit conservative, and the houses are stupidly big for a single person. Anyway, I’m out of here.”

Before he could even take two steps with the battered laptop he had clung to like a lifeline, the man moved, blocking his path so suddenly that Ian didn’t even see it happen.

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“Hospital fees?”

The man’s bare torso leaned closer. Only then did Ian realize how imposing his frame was, catching the faint scent of antiseptic mixed with blood and sweat, adding an unexpected intensity to his natural scent. Ian instinctively scrunched his nose and leaned back.

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“What are you… talking about?”

“I don’t have insurance.”

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“What?”

“I don’t have insurance, so I’m not sure how to pay the bill. Isn’t that why you saved me?”

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Ian glared at him.

“Why would I?”

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“Because I got hurt because of you.”

“Then you should’ve let me fall.”

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“That’s harsh.”

“It’s best to be harsh with people who try to pull stunts.”

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The man laughed, his chest and throat moving slightly with a faint breath. Ian felt uncomfortable, seeing that perfect body so close, alive, and moving as if it was saying without words, Who’s trying to pull a stunt here?

Damn it, he thought, feeling like an idiot.

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As Ian stood there, face tense, the man chuckled softly.

“It’s not a stunt. I really don’t have insurance.”

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The man didn’t seem like someone who couldn’t afford it. He was impeccably dressed, his appearance immaculate, even now, with his shirt in disarray after receiving treatment.

“Looking at you, it’s hard to believe you don’t have insurance.”

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“Foreigners, you know.”

The word “foreigner” sounded oddly regretful. With his flawless English accent and textbook Anglo-Saxon features, it felt like he was toying with Ian.

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Is everything he says a lie? Maybe he’s pathological.

“Too bad for you. But in case you missed it, I’m broke too. I don’t even have insurance myself. I can’t pay my own hospital bill. I’ll probably have to sneak out when the staff aren’t looking.”

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The man chuckled, and Ian forced a tight smile.

Neither of them seemed interested in genuine conversation. The man had spent their entire exchange spouting unlikely truths, and Ian felt no need to react to every one of his lies.

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“You saw my house burn down. I don’t even have a place to go. The only thing I salvaged is this busted laptop. I can’t sell it, and I have no family or friends to call. You’re lucky—you have clothes on, at least. I’m stuck in pajamas…”

Ian lifted his foot. The disposable hospital slippers barely covered his toes.

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“…And these don’t even fit. By the way, this blazer is yours, right? Do I have to return it now, or can I borrow it a bit longer? I doubt anyone will pick me up like this, even if I manage to sneak out of here.”

Ian sighed dramatically, exaggerating the hopelessness of his situation.

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“So spare me the charity act. Just consider saving me a good deed and move on. My mom was almost addicted to charity, and she always said kindness costs money. And really, could you move out of my way? I need to make a run for it while the doctor’s out.”

The man continued watching Ian, a faint smile on his lips. Ian’s irritation grew.

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“What are you looking at?”

“…No place to go, huh?”

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“You heard me.”

“No one to call either.”

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“Yeah. Nobody. My mom’s funeral was last week. I immigrated here as a kid. No relatives, no nothing.”

Despite the tragic tone of his words, Ian spoke with a casual expression that almost seemed careless. A stranger might assume he was lying.

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But as he talked, the reality of his situation struck him. Without cash or a card, he would probably wander around in his half-naked, pajama-clad state indefinitely.

“No money.”

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“Flat broke.”

“Practically naked.”

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“Close enough.”

The man seemed to reach a conclusion, nodding with a touch of lightness.

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“No other choice, then. I’ll cover the bill.”

“Oh, um. Thanks. And, just to be clear, I do appreciate you saving me. Just… my current situation… You’ll be rewarded in heaven, I’m sure.”

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“I’ll cover your bill too.”

Ian blinked, surprised.

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“…What? Why?”

“Because your situation sounds pretty dire.”

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Ian scowled without realizing it.

“No insurance, right?”

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“I don’t have insurance, but I do have money.”

“Oh.”

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“And I’ll let you keep the blazer. You’re clearly in more need than I am.”

The man took three steps closer. It felt like he’d just lost in a game of hide-and-seek where he was bound to lose. Ian felt uneasy, not knowing the man’s motives.

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Reflexively, he stepped back and blurted, “What? Are you interested in me?”

He’d had enough of men eyeing him over the years. Their advances, always accompanied by a sickening term of endearment, had made him believe all gay men were one-note. But if this man were making a move, at least he had his own style.

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The man’s reply was calm and dispassionate.

“Not that kind of interest.”

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“Then what?”

“Just charity.”

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“Oh.”

It felt humiliating to suddenly become an object of pity.

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“Sorry, but I don’t need it. I think you’ve done enough.”

“You don’t need it? In that case, can I have my blazer back?”

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For the third time, Ian glared at him.

“…Fine.”

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“Your words.”

Ian gritted his teeth, slipping out of the blazer. Left in nothing but thin summer pajamas, he felt the chill and embarrassment rising on his skin as he handed the jacket back.

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“Thanks. I wore it well.”

The man accepted the blazer, but instead of putting it on, he draped it over Ian’s shoulders again, resting his hand there. Ian squirmed, but the man turned him toward the wall-length mirror.

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Seeing his reflection, Ian bit his lip.

In the mirror stood a slim Asian man, too thin to look like an adult, wearing a baggy blazer over a body wrapped in bandages, pajama pants, and disposable slippers. His eyes were sharp but tired, his appearance as shabby as it was sad.

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Ian knew exactly why the man had shown him this, and it made him angry. This sight in the mirror was someone who looked more in need of pity than anyone trying to pull off a “come on.”

“The hotel I’m staying at has an extra room. You can stay there.”

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This man didn’t want money, nor did he want anything else. But he did have a reason for helping Ian. Whatever that reason was, he wasn’t saying. The talk about insurance had been a roundabout way of leading up to this offer.

“So that’s what you wanted from the start? The no-insurance thing was a lie, too, right? Who are you, and what do you want from me?”

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Ian looked at the man’s reflection in the mirror, baring his teeth slightly.

“Answer me. Who are you, and what are you trying to pull? If you answer, I’ll go with you.”

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A surge of stubbornness swelled within him. He was done pretending not to notice this man’s intentions. If he had to go along just to find out who this man was, then so be it.

The man smirked, a slow, knowing smile as if he could see right through Ian’s resolve. Then he finally spoke, in words that weren’t answers at all.

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“Don’t ask anything about me. That’s the condition.”

Ian’s mouth opened in surprise.

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“…What?”

“I have no motive. You’re broke; there’s nothing I could possibly want from you. Just don’t ask anything about me. I’ll help you if you agree to that.”

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What the hell? I already asked.

Before Ian could protest, the man turned from the mirror, his movements so deliberate that the image burned into his mind.

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“Why…”

Ian’s question died as the man answered simply.

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“Charity is best done anonymously.”

Before Ian’s stepfather’s murder, the Winchells had been well-off. They’d had a large house, a team of staff, and fresh flowers adorning the entryway and dining room every other day. His mother, unsure how to spend her abundant free time, often wrestled with what to do, a happy dilemma.

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In those days, Ian easily caught his mother’s happiness, and his life felt full.

Like any comfortable middle-class family, his mother engaged in charity. His stepfather jokingly called it “charity addiction.” She frequently organized church bazaars, distributed sandwiches to the homeless, and sent generous checks to various charities every season. During summer vacations, she’d join church programs to visit orphanages in India or Africa, and on holidays, she’d organize free meal events with like-minded friends.

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That was the kind of charity Ian understood. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that the man’s anonymous “kindness” was anything close to charity.

“Ste poškodovani?”

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Outside the hospital, Ian noticed a long, black car. Men in suits stepped out, approaching with a flurry of words in an unfamiliar language.

“Speak English.”

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The man’s voice rang out close to him, and Ian’s head buzzed slightly.

Wow, it’s real?

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The man, with his flawless accent and inconspicuous appearance, really was a foreigner. Ian couldn’t guess his profession, but it was clear he could engage in random acts of charity however he pleased—and then some. Ian felt foolish for assuming every word he said was a lie.

“Were you hurt? How did that happen?”

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It wasn’t just the money. Ian noticed a strange, almost reverent deference in the suited men’s behavior toward the man. The foreign words only heightened his discomfort.

He might be dangerous.

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A strange thought flitted across his mind.

This man’s odd. He’s a rich foreigner who lingered outside my house without explanation. And now he’s doing all this for me. He has a hidden agenda.

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He might be dangerous.

“It’s nothing serious.”

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The man brushed off their concerns as they politely opened the car door for him. Before getting in, he turned to Ian.

“Get in.”

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Ian planted his feet firmly.

“What do you do for a living?”

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“We agreed you wouldn’t ask.”

“Where are you taking me?”

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“I told you—a hotel.”

“You know me, don’t you?”

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Ian raised his gaze, staring hard at the man. His big, round eyes turned sharp, like an angry feline.

“You know me, don’t you? Who the hell are you?”

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The man held Ian’s gaze for a moment, then leaned in, whispering softly, almost like a breath against his ear.

“That’s not for you to know. But if you really want to find out…”

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Find out for yourself.

When the man straightened, a shiver ran down Ian’s spine. He remembered how he’d felt earlier, dazed and confused in the man’s arms, overcome by the man’s strange scent—a scent so rich and deep it mingled with his warmth yet lingered like an intoxicating mist.

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This man knows me.

The realization cut through him like a blade.

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And I know him, too.

Conflicting thoughts spread across Ian’s face as he looked up. The man was already seated in the car, gesturing for him to follow—a dark, inscrutable invitation no one could be certain of. Ian’s instincts told him he knew this man, even if he couldn’t remember how.

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Why don’t I recognize him? Who is he?

In the next moment, Ian found himself climbing into the car.

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The man waited, wearing that same, slow smile.