Julian was curled up on the couch, one leg folded under him, laptop balanced carefully on his thighs. The glow from the screen reflected in his glasses as his fingers moved fast, brows slightly drawn together. He looked focused. Too focused.
From the kitchen, the quiet hiss of the coffee machine stopped.
A moment later, footsteps.
Tommy appeared with two mugs, the smell of coffee trailing after him. He paused for a second, just watching Julian like that—hair a little messy, lips moving as he silently read something on the screen. There was something about seeing Julian relaxed like this that always made Tommy's chest feel strangely full.
He sat down beside him and handed him a mug.
"Break time," Tommy said.
Julian didn't look up. "Five minutes."
Tommy snorted. "That's what you said twenty minutes ago."
Julian frowned slightly, scrolling. "I just need to fix this one thing. The formatting is wrong."
Tommy leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. "You're fussing over something no one will notice."
Julian finally turned to look at him. "I'll notice."
"That's exactly the problem," Tommy replied, smiling.
Julian huffed, clearly annoyed, but his fingers still hovered over the keyboard. "If I don't do it now, I'll forget."
Tommy tilted his head, studying him. "You've been working all evening."
"So?"
"So," Tommy said softly, "you're tired."
Julian opened his mouth to argue—but before he could, Tommy leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't demanding.
Just warm. Familiar.
Julian froze for half a second, then sighed quietly and melted into it, his free hand coming up to grip the front of Tommy's shirt. The laptop slipped slightly, forgotten.
Tommy pulled back just enough to murmur, "See? Much better use of your time."
Julian blinked at him, cheeks warm. "You're distracting me on purpose."
"Absolutely."
Julian shook his head, trying—and failing—not to smile. "Pathetic."
Tommy leaned in again, brushing their noses together. "And yet, here you are."
Julian finally closed the laptop with a soft click and set it on the table. He took his mug, took a small sip, then glanced at Tommy from the corner of his eye.
"You win," he said quietly.
Tommy grinned, pleased, and pulled Julian closer until his shoulder rested comfortably against his chest.
They sat there like that, coffee cooling, the room quiet again.
When Oliver and Andrew came to Stellar Corps two days later, the glass conference room was already half full when they walked in.
He paused just long enough to adjust the folder in his hands, then stepped inside with the same calm precision he used for everything else. The executives nodded as he greeted them—polite, brief, professional. No smiles that lingered. No warmth. Just respect.
He took a seat near the end of the table, laptop opening smoothly, posture straight. To anyone watching, he looked exactly like what he'd become: composed, capable, distant.
The door opened.
Oliver felt it before he saw him.
Footsteps—measured, unhurried. The room shifted subtly, chairs straightening, backs stiffening. A presence entered before the man did.
Then Liam Adrien walked in.
Black suit. No tie. Crisp white shirt buttoned high. His hair was shorter than Oliver remembered, styled neatly, nothing soft about it. His face was sharper too, all clean lines and restraint, like emotion had been filed down over time.
This was not the boy who used to grin on a bike. This was not the Liam who laughed easily.
This was the CEO of Stellar Corporations.
Their eyes met.
Not long. Not short.
Just enough.
The world didn't stop—but something inside Oliver did. His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table before he forced them still.
Liam's expression didn't change. If there was recognition, it stayed buried. He took his seat at the head of the table as if this was just another meeting.
"As you all know," one of the executives began, "this is Oliver Montero, lead systems analyst from the institute. He'll be overseeing the secure communications framework for this project."
Oliver stood slightly in acknowledgment.
Liam looked at him again.
Then he stood.
"Mr. Montero," Liam said, voice even, professional. He extended his hand.
Oliver leaned forward and took it.
They shook hands because they had to.
The contact was brief—but it was enough.
Too much, really.
It was like touching a memory that never faded. The warmth. The familiarity. The ache. Oliver felt it travel straight up his arm and settle heavy in his chest. Liam's grip tightened just a fraction before loosening again.
They let go.
No one noticed.
The meeting began.
They worked well together. Too well.
Their words were precise. Sharp. Clean. No wasted syllables. They challenged ideas, adjusted models, refined protocols. On paper, it was perfect collaboration.
But underneath—
"Your encryption cycle is too slow," Oliver said calmly, tapping his screen. "It creates a vulnerability window."
Liam leaned back slightly. "It's industry standard."
"Industry standard is outdated," Oliver replied. "This system handles high-risk data. We can't afford tradition."
A brief silence followed.
Liam's jaw tightened.
"You're suggesting a full restructure," he said. "That costs time."
"It saves lives," Oliver answered, just as cool.
Something flickered in Liam's eyes then. Not professional irritation—something sharper. Personal.
"You assume we're careless," Liam snapped, voice controlled but edged.
Oliver looked up slowly. "I assume nothing. I calculate."
The room went very still.
Andrew cleared his throat awkwardly. "Perhaps we can—"
"No," Liam said flatly. He stood, hands braced on the table, eyes locked on Oliver. "Explain your alternative."
Oliver did.
Clearly. Efficiently. Unapologetically.
When he finished, silence followed again.
Then Liam sat back down.
"We'll implement it," he said.
No praise. No apology.
The meeting ended shortly after.
Chairs scraped. Conversations resumed. People filtered out.
Oliver packed his laptop quickly, already preparing to leave, when Liam spoke.
"Mr. Montero."
Oliver paused.
"Yes?"
"Coffee."
Not a question.
Oliver hesitated just a beat too long.
"…Alright."
They walked out together, side by side, not touching. The hallway felt narrower than it should have.
The café across the street was quiet. Neutral. Safe.
They sat across from each other.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Liam broke the silence.
"You didn't tell them you knew me."
Oliver wrapped his hands around his cup. "There was no need."
"You could have asked to be reassigned."
"You could have rejected the partnership," Oliver replied evenly.
Liam's lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything.
"You've changed," Liam said.
"So have you."
Another pause.
This one heavier.
"You challenged me back there," Liam added. "You never used to."
Oliver finally looked at him fully. "You never used to need challenging."
That landed.
Liam leaned back, studying him like a problem he couldn't solve.
"You're still stubborn," Liam said quietly.
"And you're still controlling," Oliver replied.
Their eyes met again.
This time, neither looked away.
The coffee went cold.
Oliver was the first to break.
He blinked, straightened slightly, and cleared his throat as if waking from a thought he hadn't meant to fall into. Liam noticed. Of course he did. The corner of Liam's mouth twitched—half amused, half irritated, like he'd caught Oliver doing something he himself refused to admit.
Then, thankfully, Oliver's phone rang.
The sound cut through the moment like a blade.
Oliver almost sighed in relief as he reached for it.
"Hello?"
A man's voice came clearly from the other end. Warm. Familiar.
"Why are you late?" the voice asked lightly. "I already started dinner. You said you wouldn't stay out long."
"I got held up," he said quietly. "I'm on my way."
There was a pause, then a small laugh through the phone. "Don't eat outside. I cooked."
Oliver nodded even though the other person couldn't see him. "I won't. Save some for me."
"Okay," the man said, and then the line went dead.
Oliver lowered the phone.
He didn't look at Liam immediately. He pushed his chair back instead, the legs scraping softly against the floor.
"I have to go," Oliver said, calm, polite, professional. "Thank you for the coffee."
Liam hadn't moved.
He had heard everything.
The voice.
The ease.
The way Oliver softened in seconds.
Something dark flickered in his eyes—not anger exactly. Not yet. More like jealousy he hadn't given himself permission to feel. The kind that burned because it came with the sharp reminder that he had no claim anymore.
They lived together.
They shared dinners.
They waited for each other.
Liam's jaw tightened.
He wanted to ask.
Who was that?
How long has he been there?
Does he touch you?
The questions crowded his throat, sharp and ugly.
But he said none of them.
Because he had no right.
Oliver picked up his bag, hesitated for half a second—as if feeling Liam's stare even without meeting it—then finally looked at him.
Their eyes locked again.
This time, Liam didn't hide it.
His gaze was intense. Burning. Possessive in a way he no longer tried to justify.
"Take care," Liam said finally, his voice even, controlled to the point of coldness.
Oliver nodded. "You too."
No smile.
No softness.
He turned and walked away.
Liam stayed seated long after Oliver was gone, his coffee untouched, the chair across from him empty, the echo of another man's voice still ringing in his ears...