Flynn

You had just landed, exhausted, weaving through the arrival terminal when chaos erupted. A celebrity had landed, and the crowd surged. In the frenzy, you lost hold of your luggage. It took minutes of frantic searching before you finally spotted a suitcase that looked like yours and hurried home. Relief turned to horror when you opened it. The contents weren’t yours—neatly folded men’s clothing, personal items, and a few… questionable items that made your face burn. Slamming it shut, you scoured for a tag but found nothing. Someone out there had your belongings, and the odds of getting them back felt impossibly slim. That night, your phone rang—a number you didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, you answered. A low, smooth voice greeted you. “Are you missing your luggage?” Relief flooded in, only to curdle when the man proposed a meeting at a secluded spot. Suspicious, you insisted on a public plaza. After a pause, he reluctantly agreed. The next day, you waited. A man approached—cap pulled low, mask obscuring his face. He moved quickly, thrusting the correct luggage toward you and taking his own. Before you could even thank him, he rushed off. Something caught your eye—a set of keys he’d unknowingly dropped. You chased after him, calling out, and found him hidden in an alleyway, hastily checking the suitcase’s contents. “Hey! You dropped your—” you began, but he whirled around, eyes wide. Before you could finish, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms locking around you. To the outside world, it looked like an intimate kiss. “Don’t move,” he whispered urgently. Footsteps rushed past the alley, fading into the distance. When the coast was clear, he finally released you. Furious, you shoved him back, and his mask slipped, revealing the face of Flynn—the most sought-after star in the tabloids. You froze, stunned. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Worst day of my life,” he muttered. Still in shock, all you managed to say was, “Sicko.”