Urban System in America

By the time he finally broke free, Rex felt like he'd barely survived an apocalypse. His hair stuck out in five different directions, his collar looked like someone had tried to strangle him with it, and his face… good god, his face. It was like a battlefield of lipstick. Smudges across his cheeks, streaks down his jaw, even a perfect kiss-print stamped right on his temple like some kind of mafia brand. He didn't even know how that one got there.

Of course he couldn't go to the class like this, so he made his way towards the bathroom.

On the way to the bathroom, naturally people stared. Not with disgust, though. If anything, their curiosity was tinged with awe, like he'd just walked out of a warzone victorious. And somehow, infuriatingly, he still looked good. Messed up, yes, but in that "wild charm" kind of way, like a rock star stumbling off stage, sweat-soaked and wrecked but still untouchably handsome.

Finally, he pushed into the sanctuary of the men's bathroom, almost sighed in relief. The sharp scent of disinfectant hit him, cutting through the perfume cloud still clinging to his clothes. The place was mostly empty, Only a few guys were scattered around, heads down, doing their thing. Following the sacred bro code, Rex picked a spot, respectfully leaving a one-urinal gap,unzipped, and let go.

And man… bliss. Pure, unfiltered bliss. He'd driven a two-million-dollar Ferrari, been mobbed like a celebrity, practically drowned in perfume and squeals… but right now? This beat all of it. This was heaven. Honestly, maybe even better than sex. And unlike sex, way easier to achieve.

His head tilted back, eyes half-closing in relief, savoring every second like it was the nectar of life. "Ahh… yeah. Forget Ferraris, this is the good stuff," he thought.

Out of habit, his gaze flicked sideways, just a quick peek at the guy next to him. Bad idea. The comparison was brutal. The poor guy next to him was packing what could generously be called a mini water pistol. Rex… well, Rex was carrying a full-on assault rifle. Loaded. Heavy. Custom build.

The guy seemed to feel the comparison, too, because he suddenly twitched and turned his head, like he knew he was being judged. Rex instantly snapped his eyes forward, face the picture of innocence, with the intensity of a man who had never in his life even thought about looking anywhere else, as if he'd been studying the wall tiles with religious devotion this whole time.

Business finished, Rex zipped up, washed his hands, and finally faced the mirror. The reflection that looked back at him almost made him choke. tiles with the intensity of a man who had never in his life even thought about looking anywhere else. His face was a battlefield of random lipstick stains… red smears across his cheekbones, streaks along his jaw, even a faint kiss-print on his temple like a victory mark. Combined with his slightly rumpled hair and collar, he looked less like a student and more like a man who'd just stumbled out of a particularly rowdy bachelor party.

He stared at himself for a long second. "…Do I laugh or do I cry?"

With a resigned sigh, he wet a paper towel and went to work, scrubbing off the evidence.It took effort, apparently college-brand lipstick had the adhesive power of industrial paint… but slowly, the chaos faded from his reflection. Lipstick gone. Cheeks clean. Jawline restored. Temple reclaimed. He straightened his collar, combed fingers through his hair until it fell back into place, and with each motion, his reflection sharpened back into the man he knew.

And just like that, the wild, chaotic mess transformed back into the dashing, untouchable Rex again.

He leaned closer, flashed himself a smirk. "There he is."

And with that, he stepped out of the bathroom, calm, collected, and ready to pretend like none of it had ever happened.

On the way, Rex spotted a familiar figure walking ahead. He smirked, a devil's mirk and without warning, he swung his hand and slapped Lucas hard on the back.

"Ughh—what the hell, man?!" Lucas jerked forward like he'd been hit by a truck, nearly face-planting into the lockers. He staggered, clutching his shoulder.

Rex grinned, wicked and unrepentant. "Relax. That's called a man's handshake. Way of saying I missed you."

"Missed me? My soul just left my body," Lucas snapped, massaging the sore spot. "Do you greet all your friends by dislocating their spines, or am I special?"

"You're special," Rex shot back immediately. "Consider it an honor. Builds resilience. Look at you… still alive. Stronger already."

Lucas gave him a look, half glare, half grin. "Every time you do this, I remember why I don't miss you."

"Don't lie," Rex said, leaning in with a cocky smirk. "You've been missing me like crazy. Admit it."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Houdini. Where the hell have you been? You disappeared off the grid."

"Me? Where have you been?" Rex countered, not missing a beat.

Lucas opened his mouth, closed it, then chuckled. "Alright, fine. I'll go first. I got myself a new girlfriend."

Rex raised a skeptical brow. "Oh boy. Who's unlucky enough this time?"

Lucas puffed his chest like he'd just won a trophy. "Cheerleader. Amber."

Rex blinked. "Amber? That Amber?"

"Yeah. Why?" Lucas smirked, clearly proud.

"You mean the girl who changes boyfriends faster than she changes her clothes?" Rex said, deadpan. "Bro, she goes through relationships like tissue paper. Wipes her nose once and tosses them."

Lucas shrugged, unbothered. "So what? I'm not looking to marry her. Just having some fun. And did you see her body? Front, back, side... she's carved out like a absolute hottie. Absolute fire."

Rex's disbelief only deepened. "Fire? Lucas, her ex was Tyrone. Tyrone. The guy's built like a freight train with legs. He benches three of you for warm-up. You're telling me you just casually stepped into his leftovers?"

"Eh." Lucas waved it off like he was brushing crumbs off his shirt. "It's fine. He's done with her. Besides, did you see that waist-to-hip ratio?"

(End of Chapter)