CHAPTER 23 – The Space Between
There were two bedrooms in the penthouse.
And for the first time, both were occupied.
But only one man slept.
The other stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched and his chest aching in ways he couldn't quite name.
Kairo Laurent had spent years perfecting the art of silence. Silence in the boardroom. Silence in pain. Silence when betrayal hit too close to the bone. But tonight, as he lay in the cold of a bed too large and too untouched, the silence around him didn't feel like control.
It felt like consequence.
He had pushed Elián away again. Not with words. Not even with hands. But with everything else. With arrogance. With suspicion. With the bitter taste of jealousy he didn't know how to wash down.
He hated how Elián looked at him now.
Not with fear.
Not with admiration.
Just distance. A gentle, unbothered distance—as if he'd already made peace with letting Kairo go.
And that, more than anything, made Kairo feel like he was drowning.
---
Elián curled into the guest room's worn comforter, one arm under the pillow, the other pressed to his chest like a shield. The room was quiet, smaller than the master suite, and lacking in decoration. But in its plainness, there was peace. No memories of raised voices. No echoes of cold hands or colder stares.
Just solitude.
And a racing heart.
He hated how his chest still fluttered when Kairo looked at him too long. Hated that even after everything, there was a piece of him—soft, stupid, and stubborn—that still cared.
But he didn't want to feel broken in Kairo's hands again.
He wouldn't.
So he closed his eyes, imagined the breeze outside, and let the night take him under.
---
The next morning came slowly.
Sunlight crept into the penthouse like a secret, pooling gently on polished floors and sheer curtains. Kairo stood in the kitchen, already dressed in a crisp black suit. But his tie was undone, and his coffee sat untouched.
He kept glancing at the hallway.
Elián hadn't come out yet.
Part of him wanted to leave for work. The other part—the part that was slowly learning the taste of regret—stayed rooted to the spot.
Finally, soft footsteps padded into the room. Elián appeared in a pale grey hoodie and black jeans, hair slightly tousled from sleep, eyes unreadable.
Kairo cleared his throat. "You're up."
"I always am," Elián replied, brushing past him to get to the fridge.
It wasn't rude. It wasn't bitter. It was just… distant.
"I thought maybe we could talk," Kairo offered, voice lower than usual.
Elián paused mid-pour, juice sloshing into a glass. "Talk? Or argue?"
"Talk."
Elián turned slowly, leaning back against the counter. "Okay. Let's talk."
Kairo met his gaze. "About the gala. About… us."
"About Thomas?" Elián asked flatly.
Kairo stiffened. "He's not—he's not the point."
"No, Kairo," Elián said, voice rising slightly. "He is the point. He always has been. The man you kept defending while hurting me. The man you let put bruises on my spirit without ever lifting a finger to stop it."
Kairo looked away. "I didn't know—"
"You didn't want to know," Elián corrected. "And now you want a conversation? Now that I've stopped running after your crumbs?"
"I never asked you to beg."
"But you liked it when I did."
Silence.
Sharp. Heavy. Brutal.
Kairo took a shaky breath, then stepped closer. "I don't know how to fix this."
Elián blinked. "You don't fix people, Kairo. You either love them as they are, or you leave."
"I didn't love you at first," Kairo admitted. "I didn't even like you."
Elián laughed bitterly. "Trust me, I noticed."
"But now…" Kairo looked him dead in the eyes. "Now I can't go a night without wondering what you're thinking. Wondering who you smile at when you're not home. Wondering why it bothers me so damn much."
Elián's hands trembled around the glass.
Kairo kept going. "I don't know how to be what you want."
"I never asked you to be perfect," Elián whispered. "I just asked you to be kind."
Kairo stepped even closer, now inches away. "I can try. If you let me."
Elián looked up, eyes shiny with something too vulnerable to name. "Why now?"
Kairo's voice cracked. "Because the night you walked away from me at that gala… I realized something."
"What?"
"You weren't mine anymore. Not even a little."
Elián's lips parted.
"I don't want to wake up in this cold place without you in it," Kairo whispered. "Even if you hate me. Even if I don't deserve it. I still want to try."
Elián shook his head slowly. "You think an apology erases everything?"
"No. But maybe it can start something."
Another pause.
A breath.
A war of hearts between pride and longing.
And then, Elián nodded—just once.
"Okay," he said softly. "Then prove it."
---
The next few days were quieter. But not in the same way.
Not in the painful silence.
Now, there was space—awkward, cautious space—but with it came effort. Kairo started coming home earlier. Elián stopped hiding in the guest room. They shared meals again—silent but warm. Kairo even asked about his classes. Listened when Elián talked about poetry.
One evening, Kairo found himself in the kitchen trying to cook rice. Badly.
Elián watched him from the doorway, arms crossed, amused. "You do know water boils before you put the rice in, right?"
Kairo groaned. "It's boiling eventually."
"God, you're hopeless."
But his voice was soft. Almost teasing.
Almost… home.
---
End of Chapter 23.