Chapter- 14

"Mr. Haughty…"

Bathing the room in a radiance, the morning beams softly trickle through Ethan's majestic floor-to-ceiling windows. Every movement is agonisingly deliberate; Ryan's fingers were trembling when they reached out towards the ornate handle. In Ethan's mind, the brunette's path to the teapot is fraught with danger, unbeknownst to him. But Ethan, ever vigilant or maybe…apprehensive more than 'watchful', senses an impending catastrophe.

With one sudden surge of concern, he darts towards Ryan, his long limbs encircling the assistant in a cautious fervour, creating a fortress of warmth and safety— their bodies meld together, their faces impossibly close…again, last time it didn't end well.

A single heartbeat echoes like thunder resonating in the wind, within the cage of Ryan's ribs, he is enveloped in Ethan's sturdy embrace. Time stretches out, each second a labyrinth of anticipation. Their eyes lock… and an immutable connection.

Strange. In Ethan's arms, Ryan finds solace? A sanctuary from the chaos of the outer world— in the most cold arms, the brunette finds warmth?

"You were teetering on the brink of another disaster, you fool," Ethan murmurs, his voice a low, husky caress against his assistant's perked up ear. The older one's breath brushes against Ryan's skin. "Learn to be careful, Ryan."

Ryan's cheeks flush, a wildfire of nerves consuming him whole. The unrestricted proximity of Ethan's face engulfs him, sending a tremor of longing down his spine. He stammers, his voice but a fragile cluster of gratefulness. "Th- thank you, Sir. But I assure you, I'm fine…" his words hang in the air, suffocating.

Locked in an unyielding gaze, time stands still for what feels like an eternity, tension saturating the room.

"Sir–" just as swiftly as their world moved, Ethan releases Ryan from his embrace, a gasp leaving his lips; a sudden jolt patterning.

Discomfort etches itself on Ethan's composed face, a mask shattered by an inner turmoil. "For- forgive me, Mr. Miller! What the hell am I doing??" Ethan chokes out, recoiling and shielding himself from the sudden onslaught of emotions. His nausea threatens his proud body. Engaging in a series of retches, gagging involuntarily, the dark haired individual repeatedly averts his gaze, shielding his visage with palms of his hands.

Confusion and sorrow intertwine in Ryan's heart, witnessing Ethan's retreat firsthand. As an assistant, the brunette should have known better. The weight of regret settles upon him when he realises his grave error— Ethan is not a man who welcomes touch, let alone a closeness of such major magnitude.

Ethan's tone is heavy with unease. "I… I apologise, Mr. Miller. My intrusion into your personal space was unintended. It was really out of genuine concern."

Ethan scavenges for words, and with each next word, hope keeps crumbling in Ryan's chest. He had foolishly dared to think that this fleeting intimacy could be the catalyst for something greater— a friendship maybe, beyond their professional constraints.

Now, that door seems surely shut.

A suffocating silence makes the room succumb, enveloping them both. Ethan gathers himself, avoiding Ryan's gaze, and the swelling tension becomes unbearable. Their– no, Ryan's longing for connection is met with the constraints of their own inhibitions.

With a strained smile, Ryan replies weakly. "Don't worry, Sir. I understand. I appreciate your concern…"

Ethan nods, but his eyes are filled with remorse, a window into the cracks in his facade. Ryan glimpses the bareness lurking, in that ticking of the clock, lurking far beyond Ethan's guarded exterior. An unspoken understanding passes between them, the fragile threads of their hearts having briefly intertwined before being mercilessly sundered.

In the act of embracing the present moment, without resistance, accepting to accept things just the way they are, Ryan gracefully transfers the tea into two separate cups, allocating one for his superior and the other for his own.

-

The scent of fresh tea leaves and Rose petals fill the frigid air, blending harmoniously with a gentle breeze that rustles the leaves of nearby trees. Ethan, the stern and taciturn boss, sits in his favourite 'worn out' armchair, sipping his tea with a slight etched on his face— the frown is artificial, curtaining his true soothe.

Putting all his weight on the balustrade, Ryan takes small sips from his own porcelain cup. "Beautiful…" he moans.

A view from this vantage point is nothing short of a masterpiece— a sprawling tapestry of nature's grandeur unfurls in one's eyes, capturing the essence of surrounding landscapes. Rolling gardens stretch in every direction, painted with rich colours of emerald green and amethyst. Majestic trees, reaching towards the Heavens with gnarled branches, sway gently in the breeze, their leaves singing in a soothing lullaby.

Yet, a silence between the two men dangles dangerously. The rhythmic sound of their sipping fills the void, almost which seems like the porcelain cups are whispering their own secrets. Neither of them had initiated this morning ritual, still here they are, indulging in it without a word.

Ethan's gaze gropes the delicate cup, decorated through intricate blue patterns that seem to brighten in the sunlight. Sometimes, becoming the ice breaker doesn't really hurt, "Do you know how long I've had this cup, Mr. Miller? He smiles, conveying something unreadable, repressed. Grudge? Maybe.

The young assistant pauses, his eyes meeting Ethan's for the first time in a long while, after what had happened earlier in the kitchen. He detects a hint of sorrow lurking behind those deep coloured irises but remains silent, letting Ethan continue.

"Six years," Ethan continues, his voice morphed into nostalgia, "It was a gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday. I didn't fully appreciate it back then, though…"

Ryan's eyebrows furrow. A faint smile appears on his lips, realisation soon dawns in, "So, you have got a mother after all?"

Ethan's eyes soften, and a rare smile graces his words, as always of course a gloomy one. "I'm not really sure if just birthing your child and sending them materialistic bribery annually counts as 'having a mother' for the son," to emphasise, Ethan air quotes.

"Isn't it at least comforting to know that you have a mother to call your own?" Ryan exhales, "Isn't it already a better option than growing up in an orphanage?"

"Just as growing up in an orphanage, in an unfamiliar surroundings can be hard, it is in fact," Ethan concedes, "However difficult it may be, growing up with parents who never willingly accepted their responsibilities, had always made you feel like a burden is equally challenging. Here, nothing is better, nothing is harder. This is not a competition…"

What is his boss implying? Ryan is unsure. "I'm sorry…" Why would his parents not willingly take care of him? "I was not trying to offend you."

Ethan clears his throat, breaking the intensity. "Anyway, Mr. Miller, you seem unusually quiet this morning," he gently reminds, "It is not like you to be so silent, is it?"

"You have already studied my character? Impressive!" Ryan shifts his stance, avoiding eye contact. "It's just… the serenity of the place is quite captivating," he replies, "This porch… I have always wanted to own a porch just like this one, looking over a stunning, lush view. To stand there and look at the stars, the crescent moon, the dark sky at night. Imagine how breathtaking it would be."

"Here we go again. With your nonsense romanticism," A hint of smile, howbeit, tugs at the corners of Ethan's lips, his icy exterior gradually starting to melt. "But indeed. It does have that effect. Doesn't it?" He softly responds, "Growing up, this porch was my escape from the noise of the world."

"You? Sir? Seeking solace?" Ryan asks, disbelief colouring the palettes of his questions. "I thought you never had time for such things!!"

Ethan nods, a distant look in his eyes. "Mr. Miller, haven't we all been in a place where we wanted to give up at some point of our lives? Missed opportunities, fractured friendships, shattered dreams, frustrations; the world can be merciless, Mr. Miller. But here, on this porch, even if just for a moment, I found solace amidst the turmoil."

Encouraged by Ethan's unexpected admission, the young assistant slants forward. At least the proud CEO recognises that it is impossible to maintain constant determination or strength. "And now, Sir? Have you found solace anywhere beyond this porch?" Ryan inquires, genuinely curious.

Ethan's expression disperse, his sight drifting towards the horizon, as he takes one more sip of the alleviating rose tea. "Perhaps not entirely. The weight of responsibility often overshadows the pursuit of personal happiness. However, moments like these…sharing a cup of tea and a conversation, they…they just feel nice. Nice to be alive again."

"So, why don't you do that more often?" Ryan suggests.

"No one really wants to engage in any conversation with me, Mr. Miller," Ethan finds himself accustomed to such things for such a long time that he has now become almost desensitised, numb. Well, 'almost'. All those numbing wounds might require is just a touch, a caring touch. "No one wants to share their days with me. Or their happiness, or sadness…nothing. No one wants anything to do with me…Ryan, no one talks to me you know?"

"Sir, there just has to be someone."

A spark ignites in Ethan's lips before vanishing. "It's fine, Mr. Miller. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to," he confesses, "But one can only be strong for so long before the mask begins to crumble. You know it the best, aren't I right?"

"Sure, I am going to believe in that telltale 'it doesn't hurt anymore' excuses," an obvious sarcasm dripping, "That is just an excuse you have concocted for your own satisfaction," Ryan rests his teacup on the railing, and looks ahead, as far as his eyes can see. "Excuse my audacity, but don't you think you brought this upon yourself? If only you weren't so controlling, so arrogant, so intimidating, then people might have found you more approachable," Ethan's assistant shrugs. "To put it simply, you shooed everyone away and you're continuing to do so."

"Then, why are you still by me, acting as such a nuisance? Why haven't you been pushed away already?" Ethan gulps the last droplet from his teacup, placing it in a basket after his repose. "Shouldn't you be afraid of me too?"

"Truthfully, I was. If you can recall, I almost wanted to resign just a day ago. But you were the one who stopped me."

"Mhm," the CEO starts to realise. "So, you wanted to leave because you were scared. And now you're staying also because you're scared!?"

"Somewhat…" Ryan chugs the remaining drink. "I thought it is best to adapt to my circumstances instead of resisting them. You know what they say? If you can't beat them, join them."

"I see."

Ryan curls his left elbow around the railing, "So, was the tea terrible or terrific?" He playfully giggles his eyebrows.

"You already know the answer. You just want to hear it from me," Ethan dabs on his lips, looking up, then prepares to excuse himself, "Mr. Miller, may I have a moment? I need to make a quick phone call. It has been bothering me since last night."

"Of course," Ryan affirms, "Please inform me once we need to return to the office. I believe the unofficial break comes to an official end right now. Until then, I would like to stay here a little longer."

"Suit yourself," Ethan departs from the porch. With an air of indifference, Mr. Haughty meanders away, face filled with unmistakably visible solemnity. He punches in someone's phone number angrily.

Ryan, meanwhile, clings to the empty cup, hanging precariously from the steel railings, his wistful sighs dissipating into the hazy smoke-filled clouds… his teary eyes beseeching for a peace that had eluded him for so long. Ryan had almost forgotten how it feels to be carefree again, of simply being able to exist and breathe voluntarily at the same time, he had been chasing his worth for far too long…will it really be for anything in the end?

Will things ever revert to their former state? If only momentarily? The answer everyone knows, it is resolute— no. They never do.

"Aaron…" Ryan's chest tightens, "Do you remember our plans to buy a house that must have a charming terrace? For a scenic vista like this, exactly the one I'm seeing right now," then the brunette comes face to face with the truth, of course he has no chance against the brutality of truth. "I suppose not. How could you, when you never ever recognised my existence? I was just a passing infatuation, something for your entertainment…just like a pretty doll."

Interrupting Ryan's disheartening contemplations, his inner objections, a defeaning shatter of glass reverberates; but that is not what scared Ryan, neither the source of his startle. It was the loud raucous bellow of his boss, demanding to know,

"HOW DO YOU ASSUME TO REGARD ME?"