At the end of the month, Samuel Frost flew abroad on business. He didn't take Julian. 

For a week, their interaction was reduced to clinical emails and work assignments. The time zone difference acted as a natural filter; by the time Julian saw a message, it was already the following morning. They retreated into the safety of a purely professional orbit.

The distance held for a fortnight, until the night of the Alderbrook Spirits listing gala.

Julian hadn't been a core member of the project—only early-stage inspections and final support. He lacked the bone-deep emotional investment he'd had with Synapse AI.

Sitting at the celebration felt like attending a stranger's wedding. Halfway through the banquet, while the CEO was delivering a long-winded speech, Julian slipped out for air.

The autumn rain was a cold, needle-fine mist. It soaked into Julian's suit jacket as he stood under the eaves. He was waiting for the alcohol to clear from his head when Samuel appeared.

Julian's pulse skipped. It was too late to duck back inside. "Samuel."

Samuel stepped beside him. "Not going back in? It's cold. You'll get sick."

Julian's shoulders were damp, but he forced a shrug. "I'm fine."

"Stay with me a while then," Samuel said.

Julian opened his mouth to refuse, but the words died. Maybe it was the wine, or the silence of the last two weeks. He stayed. 

They stood in the dark, the only sound the rhythmic, silken rustle of rain on the leaves. As the wind shifted, spray hit Julian's sleeve. 

"Switch," Samuel commanded.

Before Julian could protest, Samuel moved, putting his broad frame between Julian and the wind. Julian bit his lip and moved into the sheltered corner. 

Samuel produced a cigarette. "Mind?"

Julian shook his head. The flame of the lighter flickered, illuminating the sharp, cold architecture of Samuel's profile. Julian hadn't known he smoked. In the dim light of the garden, Samuel's movements were slow, almost soulful. He looked less like an MD and more like a man burdened by a secret. He finished the cigarette and crushed it out. He didn't light a second.

The air between them turned thick, heavy with the scent of wet earth and lingering tobacco. Julian shifted, his skin prickling. "I should go..."

"Julian." Samuel caught his wrist. His grip was a steel shackle. "Are you avoiding me?"

"No." Julian's denial was too fast, too sharp. He looked like a man with something to hide.

Samuel took a step forward, pinning Julian against the stone pillar. He was so close Julian could feel the heat radiating from his chest. Samuel's knee brushed against Julian's thigh. 

Julian's heart hammered against his ribs. He focused on Samuel's throat, the knot of his tie.

Samuel wore an elegant shell, but the aggression underneath was primal. It was more than an interrogation; it was an invitation. 

Julian felt a surge of indignation. He came out for someone else. Why is he doing this to me? Does he think I'm that easy?

"Sir," Julian said, his voice level. "It's time for your speech."

"Mmh." Samuel's voice was a low vibration, but he didn't move. 

Julian shoved him. 

He used every bit of strength he had. Samuel, caught off guard, stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the pillar with a dull thud. He let out a muffled grunt of pain. 

Julian didn't wait. He turned and bolted back toward the ballroom. 

Inside, he downed another glass of wine and slumped over the table, face buried in his arms. He closed his eyes, pretending the room was spinning too fast to stand. He heard Samuel's voice later, accurate and calm above the noise. 

"Is Julian drunk?"

"Looks like it," a colleague replied. "He's been down for a bit."

"Make sure he gets home," Samuel said.

Julian stayed limp until the gala ended. He was preparing to "wake up" and find his own way out when a shadow fell over him. 

"No one's taking you?"

Julian stayed still. 

"I'll take him," a colleague offered. "But I don't know where he lives."

"I know," Samuel said. "He's on my way."

Julian felt himself being hoisted. Samuel's back was broad and solid. Outside, the rain was still falling. Samuel carried him with one arm, using the other to steady an umbrella.

Julian's cheek was pressed against Samuel's neck, the rhythmic patter of rain on the silk canopy a dull backdrop to the man's steady breathing. Julian found himself regretting the charade; the warmth was too addictive.

They reached the apartment complex. Samuel tapped Julian's cheek, trying to rouse him for the door. Julian let out a low, incoherent mumble.

Samuel lost his patience. Instead of Julian's unit, he carried him into his own.

Julian opened his eyes for a split second after the door clicked shut. Samuel's bedroom. Samuel's sheets. Samuel's scent. His pulse spiked. 

Samuel returned a moment later. Julian squeezed his eyes shut. 

The mattress sank. Samuel lifted Julian's head, and the rim of a glass touched his lips. Julian drank a few sips of water. Then Samuel set the glass aside and reached for Julian's neck.

The tie was stripped away. The first button of Julian's shirt was undone. 

Julian lay perfectly still, his skin beginning to flush. He was thin, and in this position, the hollow at the base of his throat was deep.

Samuel stared at that small dip for several seconds before pressing his thumb into it. 

Julian felt the light weight on his windpipe. A faint, suffocating pressure. His scalp tingled, and he nearly gasped. But then the pressure vanished, replaced by a slow, lingering stroke.

Julian's neck felt electric. He held his breath, terrified that the slightest exhale would betray him. 

Samuel finally withdrew. He returned with a basin of water and a warm towel. He wiped Julian's face, the humid weight of the cloth making Julian feel like he was drowning in a New York summer. 

Then came the shoes. 

Samuel knelt at the foot of the bed. Julian's mind went white. His only coherent thought was a frantic prayer of thanks that he hadn't worn his socks with the holes today. 

But then Samuel pulled the socks off too. Julian's bare feet were exposed to the air. He could feel the heat of Samuel's breath against his skin. It was too much. Julian's toes curled instinctively. 

He realized immediately that a drunk man wouldn't do that. He forced his body to go slack again, his face burning a violent, undeniable red.