Chapter Text
The room hums with silence, thick and tense. Xie Lian sits at the edge of the plush hotel bed, shoulders slightly hunched despite the softness beneath him.
His fingers curl around a frayed thread on his sleeve—same thread from yesterday, same worn coat that’s seen too many winters. Outside, rain whispers against the glass of floor-to-ceiling windows, painting streaks across the glowing skyline.
He doesn’t know why he came.
The message had been short: Be at The Grand Verona. Room 1407.
No name signed below—just a transfer of money into his account so large it made him dizzy to look at it twice.
Too good to be true always was.
But then again… when did he last eat something warm? When did he last sleep without flinching at every creak in the dark?
So here he is.
Waiting.
Candlelight flickers in a corner nook—one Hua Cheng must have lit before stepping out briefly—and casts long shadows across gold-trimmed walls that feel like they belong in another world entirely. A single photograph rests on the desk: an old shrine under cherry blossoms, blurred but somehow sacred-looking.
Xie Lian doesn’t touch anything—not out of pride, but fear.
Fear that if this place touches him, stains this perfection with his reality… everything will vanish like smoke.
And then—footsteps.
Slow. Controlled. Heavy boots clicking against marble until they stop just inside the doorway.
Xie Lian doesn’t look up right away.
But when he does—
—he meets eye patch.......and eye that aren’t hungry or cruel for once.
They’re calm.
Glowing faintly in low light like embers behind glass.
Hua Cheng stands tall—so tall—6’5” barely doing justice to how massive he feels filling space without even speaking.
“You’re smaller than I expected,” Hua Cheng says finally, voice deep as distant thunder under velvet cloth.
“But not fragile.”
A beat passes.
“I didn’t ask you here for rutting.”
He closes door behind him softly.
“I asked you here… because I want your answer.”
Hua Cheng takes a seat on the couch furthest from Xie Lian, giving him space—a respectful distance. He moves with grace that’s almost feline—every movement deliberate, every gesture measured. His eyes never leave Xie Lian, watching him closely.
His gaze flickers down to Xie Lian’s hands as they clutch that frayed thread. Something in his expression softens almost imperceptibly.
Meanwhile, Xie Lian shifts uncomfortably on the bed, his lower back is nagging him again—a constant, dull ache.
Xie Lian finally meets Hua Cheng’s gaze—those eyes like embers, glowing faintly under the low light. After a moment of hesitation, he gathers the courage to speak, trying to keep his voice steady.
“What… what do you mean? What answer?”
His voice shakes slightly, the words coming out as a whisper rather than a question. He’s wary—used to empty promises, used to men taking without giving. This one is different, though. That much he can tell.
Xie Lian’s eyes dart over Hua Cheng’s form, taking in detail without seeming rude: from those braided, jet-black tresses to the crimson-coated long fingers toying with an expensive pair of gloves. His gaze lingers on the silk eye patch—a stark contrast to that half-exposed, sharp gaze beneath.
“You’re nothing like I expected,” Xie Lian finally murmurs, fingers still worrying the worn thread. “I thought…” He stops himself. He thought what, exactly? He’s not sure himself anymore. He is handed a file.. A contract.
He reads, fingers trembling as he skimps over the lines.
Xie Lian closes the file slowly, his fingers trembling slightly. He looks up at Hua Cheng, confusion clouding his tired eyes.
“Why… me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re Hua Cheng—you can have anyone. A surrogate from some elite clinic… someone worthy Not…” He hesitates, then forces it out: "Not a broken omega sold by contract.”
His jaw tightens. "Why would you want me to bear your child? There has to be a catch.”
He stares at the file like it might burn him—tempting, dangerous.
And waits for an answer that doesn’t sound like another lie wrapped in silk and gold.
Hua Cheng remains still.
Then—
“I don’t want perfection,” he says quietly.
“I want choice. Mine… and yours.”.
Hua Cheng reaches into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a simple black card. His name is embossed on it in elegant script, and there’s more contact information in smaller text along with the logo of the successful company he runs.
He holds it out to Xie Lian, who takes it after a moment—his fingers brush against Hua Cheng’s, warm and calloused like a worker’s.
“Take your time,” Hua Cheng says, his voice steady. “Read the contract. Think over. And let me know what you want.”
Xie Lian nods, his fingers clutching the card so firmly his knuckles go white. “I’ll… think on it,” he murmurs, eyes downcast.
He can feel the weight of Hua Cheng’s gaze on him, the silence between them tense and electric. For a brief moment he wonders if this is all some cruel joke, a trick to lure him in somehow… but there’s no hint of malice in Hua Cheng’s demeanor.
He pushes the thought away, along with the ache in his lower back.
“Is it… alright if I stay here tonight?”
“Of course” Hua Cheng responds, his tone soft yet firm. “You can stay for as long as you want.”
He rises to his feet, the movement graceful and silent as a cat’s. “The entire suite is at your disposal,” he adds, gesturing to the luxurious surroundings, the plush carpet beneath their feet, the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city’s glittering skyline. “Make yourself comfortable.”.
Hua Cheng turns toward the door, his long coat brushing softly against the floor. He pauses with his hand on the handle, then glances back—just once.
That single dark eye catches the dim light, fixed on Xie Lian with an unreadable depth. Not possession. Not demand.
Something quieter.
Something like… hope.
Then, without another word, he steps out.
The door clicks shut behind him—gentle, final—and leaves Xie Lian alone in the warmth of borrowed luxury.
Outside, rain still falls.
Inside… silence.
And for the first time in years—
There is a choice.
As soon as the door closes, Xie Lian lets out the breath he’d been holding, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. For a moment he just sits there—the card clutched in his hand, the contract like a weight beside him—feeling lost, overwhelmed.
His own heartbeat, thudding in his ears. Rain on the window: steady, endless.
And then, the silence broken by his single, echoing whisper into the empty room:
“What do I do?”
He stares at the ceiling, eyes glassy with exhaustion and something deeper—longing? Fear? He wraps his arms around himself, a gesture both protective and breaking.
“This isn’t real,” he mutters. “It can’t be. No one just… offers you out of this life.”
Another pause. Then softer:
“But what if it is real?”
He glances down at the card again—Hua Cheng in elegant print—and brushes his thumb over the embossed lettering as if testing for illusion.
“Five years ago… I used to dream about doors like this,” he murmurs, voice fraying. “Now one opens—and I’m scared to walk through.”
He presses a palm Into the dull ache of his lower back—a lifetime of taking without consent etched into bone.
“But what if… for once…” His breath hitches. “What if it’s not about selling pieces of me?”
A fragile spark rises in his chest.
Not hope—not yet.
But something dangerously close to wonder.
Xie Lian jumps at the sound of the doorbell. It’s sudden, harsh, jarring, breaking his silence like a crack of thunder. He sits up, heart in his throat, every muscle tensed.
The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time.
Xie Lian leaps to his feet, his mind racing. who? Was it Hua Cheng? Or someone else? Was this a trap—some cruel trick? He glances at the door, breathing shallowly, every instinct screaming with warning.
Xie Lian lets out a shaky breath when he sees that it’s only the room service. They’re carrying a tray with a covered dish and fresh towels, their faces unreadable behind masks.
His heart slows, the rush of adrenaline fading to a low hum. It was just room service. Just someone doing their job.
He takes the items from them, mumbling a quick thanks as his hand still clutches the black business card. He shuts the door slowly, leaning back against it as he looks at the food now resting on the side table. The scent of warm spices fills the air, making his stomach growl.
Xie Lian stands there for a moment, just looking at the food. It smells… divine. It’s been ages since he had something so richly spiced, his usual meals consisting of cheap instant noodles and bread that’s at least a day old. His stomach rumbles impatiently.
But there’s something else too. Something that has less to do with hunger and more to do with want.
For years, he’s fed off scraps. This—this is like being offered a feast out of nowhere, and part of him is still waiting for the catch.
He approaches the side table, sitting on the edge of the bed. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts the cover off the dish, revealing food that would be fit for a king back home. Steaming vegetables, rich sauces, perfectly cooked meat…
His fingers tremble as he reaches out, picking up a piece of meat with his fingers—a far cry from proper etiquette, but right now he can’t bring himself to care. He takes a small bite, closes his eyes… and has to suppress a moan.
It’s hard. He keeps having to force himself to slow down, to savor each bite instead of gulping it all down like his instincts are telling him to. He's so hungry—and the food is so good—but his body’s response is out of proportion to it all, as if it can’t quite believe he’s eating such a lavish meal.
He feels almost guilty as he picks at the food, even though it should be nothing to him. He tries to remind himself that he doesn’t have to eat so sparingly.
Finally, he can’t eat anymore. His stomach’s full, but not uncomfortably so. The leftovers gleam under the lamp light: perfectly cooked, expensive food that’s barely touched.
He stares at it for a moment, guilt churning in his chest. This… this is wrong, isn’t it? To be given so much when he’s gotten so little? To be fed like a king when he’s used to eating like a beggar?
He glances at the tray, still half-full, and whispers to himself, “Maybe… maybe I can take these home? And eat them later?”
The words sound foolish even after they leave his mouth. A part of him knows that he’s not going home anytime soon, but the instinct to save food, to hoard for later, is ingrained too deeply. It’s a habit born of years of scraping by, and he can't seem to shake It.
But in the back of his mind, guilt still gnaws, whispering that he shouldn’t have had this much in the first place.
A part of him whispers he doesn’t want to waste food.
He carefully covers the dish again, like sealing a secret.
Then wraps the napkin around the unused utensils.
His fingers linger on the tray—hesitant, almost reverent.
“…Can come back for it later,” he murmurs, voice barely there. “No need to waste.”
As if saving these scraps makes surviving more bearable.
As if holding onto this moment means something.
He curls back onto the bed, still in his worn coat, staring at the ceiling.
Full for once—yet still so hungry inside.
After a few minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling, Xie Lian’s thoughts return to the contract. That offer from Hua Cheng… it shouldn’t be real. It can't be real.
But the fact that he’s lying on this soft, clean bed instead of his worn mattress back home tells a different story.
With a sigh, he fishes out the file from where he left it on the bedside table and opens it quietly.
His eyes trace along the words—the deal, the terms… the life it promises.
The numbers… they’re staggering.
He’s never seen that many zeroes in his life. He can’t even imagine a life that lavish—one where he never has to worry about money again.
But there’s more than just the wealth. The contract guarantees him everything: an apartment or even a whole house, whatever he wants. Anything, within reason. It even includes…
He stops, his mind grinding to a halt. He scans over that part again, just to be sure.
It really does read what he thinks it reads.
“The child will be raised as Hua Cheng’s, with Xie Lian recognized fully as a parent—equal in title, name, and right.”
“Xie Lian will never be treated as property or surrogate. He is to hold full autonomy over his body at all times.”
“No coercion. No force. Only consent.”
He reads it again.
And again.
Then once more—like the words might change.
His breath hitches.
“No…” he whispers, fingers pressing into the page. “No one writes contracts like this for someone like "me”
He closes his eyes—lashes fluttering against skin too pale from years spent hiding from daylight.
“I’m not… meant to have choices,” he murmurs, voice fraying. “I’m meant to obey.”
But what if… this is real?
What if that ember - eyed man with the eye patch and quiet voice isn’t offering a trap—
But a door?
A real one?
His palm slides down to rest over his lower abdomen—thin fabric of his shirt stretched across bone and old scars.
“Could I…?” He chokes on the thought before it finishes.
Instead, he pulls the blanket up around himself—the clean cotton smelling faintly of lavender—and holds the contract tight against his chest like it’s already something sacred.
Outside…
The rain slows.
And inside…
Something fragile begins to grow.
In his car, Hua Cheng sits silently in the backseat, hands folded over his knee.
He doesn’t look at the city passing by. His visible eye—the ember- one—is closed. Calm. Collected.
But beneath that composed exterior, there’s a quiet storm.
“You offered him everything,” a voice inside him murmurs—his own thoughts echoing like another man’s warning. “And asked for nothing but consent in return. That isn’t how power works.”
No.
It wasn’t.
But it was the only way he wanted it to be.
When he first saw Xie Lian’s name on that list—marked as contracted, disposable—he didn’t see weakness.
He saw survival.
He saw someone who had been crushed under the weight of a world that only takes… yet still stood upright.
Someone who hadn’t broken.
And something in him—a part long buried beneath boardrooms and cold decisions—stirred awake.
Not desire first.
Not even instinct as an alpha sensing an omega alone and hurting.
No—it was recognition.
A man treated like dirt offering tea with quiet dignity at a brothel intake interview shouldn’t exist… but he did.
Hua Cheng opens his eye slowly, watching raindrops slide down the window glass like silent tears from someone too proud to cry openly himself these days either—
His phone buzzes: security confirmation — ”Subject is resting.”
“Good,” he whispers aloud into silence of vehicle interior .
Then under breath – almost prayer –
“Let me be worthy of your yes.”
Hua Cheng’s expression tightens. It’s a memory he’d rather forget—one he keeps buried under layers of polished charm and sharp suits. He can't help but feel his walls slipping.
He remembers those dark days all too well—being hunted because he was different. Because his red eye was something to mock. Something wrong with him.
And he remembers who helped him too.
Xie Lian—that young, kind-hearted omega boy who was brave and gentle despite having every reason to be cruel. Who saw him suffering and offered a helping hand… not because he had to, but because he could.
Xie Lian’s act of kindness wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t even significant enough to warrant a place in the history books.
But for Hua Cheng… it changed everything.
Hua Cheng leans against the headrest of his private car, watching the rain splatter against the dark sky. There’s a quiet desperation in his voice as he whispers out loud—as if to himself.
“Gege…” he murmurs. “…Please say yes.”
It’s not a plea for something superficial. It’s not even a request, really.
It’s a prayer.
The room is cramped, air heavy with the stench of sweat and alpha musk. Xie Lian is forced to bear a client’s weight, a cruel hand pulling hard on his hair.
His head is bent over, face pressed into a damp pillow. He can’t breathe. His heart is pounding in his ears, lungs burning with each strained gasp.
But he can’t make a sound.
He has to be quiet.
The quieter he stays, the faster they finish.
That’s what he’s learned.
That’s what keeps him still—face buried in the pillow, knuckles white against the sheets, teeth biting into his own arm to stifle a whimper.
Pain lances through him with every brutal thrust, raw and unrelenting. His back aches—old wounds flaring—but worse is the emptiness gnawing deeper than skin or bone.
His fingers twitch toward his coat pocket.
Inside—a crumpled business card.
Hua Cheng.
A name. A door.
A life that might not be built on pain.
But can it be real?
Does he even deserve it?
The alpha above grunts, mindless in rut-driven haze—oblivious to the silent tears now slipping from Xie Lian’s shut eyes.
He doesn't cry out.
He never does.
Because quiet means survival.
And survival… means hope can still breathe.
Even here.
Even now.
The silence, the pain—it’s all familiar, but this time, there’s something else.
A glimmer of hope.
A name—Hua Cheng.
A chance.
His chest tightens, and his tears fall faster now—burning, silent trails down his cheeks.
And then…
The alpha finally slumps.
It’s over.
For now.
He crawls from the bed as soon as the client’s weight lifts off him. Moving as quickly as he dares, he grabs his clothes and begins dressing. His movements are jerky, almost frantic as he ties his trousers and buttons them. His hands are shaking. The bruises on his hips and wrists ache with every movement.
Outside, the rain continues to fall.
He glances at the digital clock on the bedside table. It’s past one in morning.
He was supposed to have finished hours ago. The rest of his shift has been canceled, leaving him with nothing but empty hours to spend in this room alone.
His clothes are rumpled, and the scent of the alpha still clings to his skin like a bad memory.
For a moment, he just stands there—still, silent, staring at nothing.
Xie Lian knocks on the door of the Madam’s study, shifting from foot to foot as if he can shake the tension from his bones. His body still hurts from the last client, and he is so tired.
The Madam's voice filters through the door, sharp and cold. “Come in.”
The Madam doesn’t look up when Xie Lian enters, her gaze fixed on the laptop screen. But her voice softens ever so slightly.
“Ah, Xie Lian, it is you. Come.”
Her tone is almost affectionate, a stark contrast to the coldness she reserves for everyone else here. In her own way, the Madam favors Xie Lian. Always has.
He knows this. Knows the Madam respects him, trusts him, *cares* for him—in a manner of speaking.
When he first arrived at this place—young, alone, and desperate in a way he can barely bring himself to remember now—the Madam was the one who took pity on him. Who offered him a meal and a chance.
And now? Now he’s her favorite worker. Her golden goose.
His lips twist into a bitter smile at the thought.
The Madam glances at him then, eyes flickering over his messy clothes and bruised arms. She raises a perfectly-shaped brow.
“Rough client?” she asks blandly, though there’s a glimmer in her gaze that might have been concern.
Xie Lian nods, silent.
She reaches into the drawer and pulls out an envelope—thicker than usual. Pushes it across the desk toward him.
“You’re needed again tonight,” she says, tone light but firm. “One of our top clients wants you.”
His hand grips the edge of the desk, heart pounding.
He knows that tone. It means no room for argument, and no chance to rest.
“He’s an alpha,” she adds, as if to drive the point home. “And he likes it rough.”
The words land like a blow. Xie Lian’s chest tightens. He hates when it’s an alpha. But the money… He takes the envelope, eyes avoiding the Madam’s gaze.
She leans back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “Try not to cry this time.”
He flinches at the word—this time.
It’s a memory he’d hoped she’d forgotten, but of course she hasn’t. The Madam doesn’t forget anything.
He bows his head, the envelope crumpling in his clenched fingers.
“I’ll be ready,” he murmurs, trying—and failing—to keep the weariness out of his voice.
Xie Lian trudges home, each step an effort against the exhaustion seeping into his bones. His body aches all over, a lingering souvenir of the day's work.
He unlocks the door to his cramped apartment, a tiny space that can hardly be called home.
The lights flicker on.
His eyes trace over everything—the worn quilt on the bed, the tiny kitchen area, the threadbare carpet on the floor.
Nothing has changed. Nothing ever does.
He drops onto the edge of his bed, still wearing his coat. The room is quiet, too quiet. Outside, rain taps softly against the window—like fingers gently knocking.
He reaches Into his pocket and pulls out the business card: Hua Cheng
Even in this dim light, it glows differently than everything else here—crisp black with golden script that feels almost sacred.
His thumb runs over the embossed name again and again.
One life ends here.
Another waits to begin.
But can he really… leave?
“Is there really a way out?” he whispers into the silence.
Two days.
Xie Lian lays on the bed, mind racing. He stares up at the ceiling but sees nothing—lost in his own thoughts.
Two days.
That’s how long he has to make a choice. To decide if he will continue like this or take a chance on…on what?
The name, number, and address on the card he holds in one hand feel like both a promise and a warning.
Hua Cheng.
A name like a new beginning.
Or… another trap.
He closes his eyes, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.
He’s spent years surviving this way—working in the shadows, taking whatever clients the Madam sends him to, going through motions, trying not to cry.
He's used to It. The pain, the exhaustion, the shame… it’s all familiar.
But the idea of escape, of hope… that’s new. Terrifyingly new.
His fingers tighten on the card, knuckles turning white. He takes slow, measured breaths, trying to calm the storm in his chest.
He's used to surviving.
Used to being an accessory, a plaything, a tool. He doesn’t know how to live. How to trust. How to hope.
He stares up at the ceiling again, eyes wide and unseeing.
Outside, rain continues to fall—a soft, steady rhythm against the window.He turns onto his side, drawing his knees up to his chest. His entire body aches, every movement a reminder of the days and nights spent doing whatever others wanted.
And always, always enduring.
Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. He’s cried too many times before to count. Tears don’t change anything.
He stares at the card again, the name seeming to burn itself into his mind.
Hua Cheng. Hope. A door to something else. Maybe better, maybe worse.
“Two days,” he whispers into the silence, voice cracking. “Just… two more days.”
And with that, he slips the card beneath his thin pillow—like a secret.
Like a prayer.
He closes his eyes.
Not sleeping.
Just waiting.
For morning.
For courage.
For whatever comes next.
The rain outside grows softer, as if the world itself is holding its breath—
Waiting for his choice.
The morning comes, sunlight slipping through the drawn blinds of his apartment and bathing the room in a warm glow.
Xie Lian wakes, fingers immediately seeking out the business card from beneath his pillow. His heart is pounding—more from anticipation than fear.
He's made a choice. finally.
He stares at the card in trembling hands, sunlight catching the gold lettering like it’s on fire.
“I have nothing to lose,” he whispers, voice raw—trying to convince himself. “Nothing… but this life. And this life is already breaking me.”
His eyes flicker to the mirror across the room—his reflection gaunt, shadows under his eyes like bruises from sleepless nights, a fresh mark on his neck from last night’s client.
But then—
What if…?
The thought rises again, fragile as a breath of wind through cracked glass.
What if it’s real?
What if he sees me—not just as something to use—but as someone worth choosing?
His thumb brushes over Hua Cheng’s name one last time.
The silence hums around him.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath—
And pulls out his phone.
His phone is old, the screen cracked and the edges worn smooth from years of use. A few more buttons away from falling apart completely—but still functional.
He dials the number on the business card, hands shaking violently.
It rings. Once.
Twice.
Three times.
For a moment, he thinks—hopes—it won’t pick up.
And then, it does.
“Speak.”
The voice on the other end of the line is sharp, cold, and precise. It sends an involuntary shiver down Xie Lian’s spine. This is not a man used to being disobeyed.
“I—” He cuts himself off, the sound dying in his throat. His hands are shaking so violently he can barely hold the phone.
Say something, he tells himself. Say anything.
After a moment, he manages to choke out, “Is… is this Hua Cheng?”
There’s a moment of silence, and for a second Xie Lian thinks the call has dropped.
But then—
“Gege…?”
And almost immediately, the voice that was cold and commanding a moment ago sounds… almost soft.
Xie Lian hesitates, heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat.
“Y-yeah,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… it’s Xie Lian.”
A beat of silence. Then—
Breath.A sharp, almost painful intake on the other end.
And then Hua Cheng speaks again, tone cracked with something raw—like a dam breaking under years of ice:
“…Gege?” His voice is softer now, hushed as if afraid to scare him away. “You… you called.”
The line is almost completely quiet except for the faint sound of breath—Hua Cheng, inhaling slowly, as if trying to keep his composure.
“Gege,” he finally says—that word again, and Xie Lian can’t help but shiver. It feels so tender, so different from the authoritative tone of before. “Have… have you made a choice?”
Xie Lian’s grip tightens around the cracked phone. His breath hitches—just slightly—but it’s enough.
He wants to say yes.
He wants to.
But the words won’t come.
His eyes dart around the tiny room—the peeling walls, the worn coat on a hook, the bed still unmade. This is all he’s ever known. Saying yes means leaving everything behind… and stepping into something terrifyingly unknown.
“I…” He swallows hard, throat dry as dust. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can trust this.”
His voice trembles—not with anger, but fear. The kind that lives deep in your bones when you’ve been broken too many times to believe in soft hands anymore.
“Will… will you really let me go back?” he whispers finally, barely audible over static of silence between heartbeats across wires and city streets connecting them—“If I say no? Will you just… disappear?”
Because that’s what hurts most.
The possibility of being wanted now—only to be forgotten later.
Like everyone else was once they got what they wanted from him…
So he waits—holding his breath—for an answer that could break or save him.
On the other end…
Hua Cheng closes his eye—the red one burning behind its lid—and speaks with quiet certainty:
“Yes.”
“And I’ll wait however long it takes.”
Xie Lian takes a deep breath, fingers tightening around the phone.
“Can we… meet?” he asks, voice quieter now but firmer. “Before I sign anything?”
A pause. Then:
“I have questions. Things I need to understand.” His thumb brushes over the edge of the business card again—a nervous habit. “I can’t just… hand over my life without knowing why.
His voice drops lower, trembling slightly
“Why me? Why now? And… what happens after?” he doesn't asks though, the questions roaming in his mind.
He swallows hard.
Xie Lian can almost see his expression through the phone line as he says, “Yes.” He has to clear his throat, and this time he can’t keep that rough edge from his voice. “Yes, I’ll meet you. And I’ll answer whatever you want.”
He pauses.
The call ends.
Xie Lian stares at the phone, heart still pounding.
He said yes.
He’s still shaky, and his mind is still spinning with questions—but he’s surer now. It’s a start.
With a trembling hand, he puts the phone down, staring at it like it’s a viper ready to strike.
I can do this, he thinks.
I can do this.
And with a deep breath, he pushes the fear away.
It’s time.