Ayaan was still scolding him, words tumbling out in a rush as his warm hands tried to rub heat back into Rudra's icy ones.
"…and you didn't even bring your phone, and no jacket, and—what if you caught a chill, Rudra, you're so—"
But Ayaan's words cut off when he felt it.
Rudra's arms slipped around him. Firm, sudden, pulling him close. The kind of hug that didn't ask permission.
Aayan stiffened, breath caught in his throat. The winter air pressed sharp and cold against his back, but in Rudra's hold he felt… steady. Safe. Too warm, despite the man's freezing skin.
"A-are you—"
Before he could finish, Rudra bent down slightly. Just enough.
A fleeting press of lips against his cheek. Quick. Almost clumsy in its suddenness.
Ayaan's entire body went still. His face flared hot, hotter than the winter air could ever bite.
Rudra stepped back almost immediately, his expression unreadable, though the faintest flush lingered across his ears. He didn't do public affection. He didn't do affection at all. And yet—
That quick peck existed.
That hug existed.
And it left Ayaan rooted to the spot, stunned, heart pounding out of control.
Rudra glanced away, clearing his throat, as if nothing had happened. "…Let's go back upstairs."
But the tiny ghost of a smile betrayed him.
________________________________________
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Rudra and Ayaan stepped inside, still carrying the weight of silence between them, scarf draped around Rudra's shoulders and their hands hidden together in his pocket.
But before the doors could close, a small group of people hurried in. Two men in suits, a woman with a stack of files, and another clutching a shopping bag. Suddenly, the confined space shrank.
Ayaan found himself pressed forward by the crowd. His back brushed Rudra's chest. Startled, he stiffened, but there was nowhere to move.
The elevator jolted slightly as it began its climb, and one of the women stumbled, pitching toward Ayaan. Instinctively, he reached out, steadying her with a hand to her shoulder.
"Careful," he said softly, his gentle tone earning her a quick flustered thanks.
But in helping her, the space shifted even tighter—forcing Ayaan back.
Back into Rudra.
His entire frame leaned into the CEO's chest, shoulders brushing the scarf, breath ghosting across Rudra's neck. Their bodies aligned almost completely, separated only by the faintest layer of fabric.
Rudra froze.
He was taller by only four centimeters, but in this suffocating closeness, it felt like the entire world had tilted, placing Ayaan exactly against him. The pressure of Ayaan's weight, unintentional and warm, sent a sharp jolt through his chest.
The men in suits grumbled about space. The woman with the files shifted. Someone coughed. The air was tight, heavy.
But Rudra's focus had narrowed to one thing only—
Ayaan, pressed flush against him, his scent of coffee and faint vanilla stronger here than ever before.
He clenched his jaw, willing his hands not to move. Not to betray him. Not to pull Ayaan closer when he was already so unbearably close.
And yet—his heartbeat pounded so violently against his ribs that he was terrified Ayaan could feel it through the thin space between them.
Ayaan, for his part, didn't dare look up. His ears were burning, his hands awkwardly held against his sides, trying not to lean back more than necessary. But the pressure was undeniable—his entire back molded to Rudra's chest.
Seconds stretched. The elevator seemed impossibly slow.
And then, in the thick silence, Ayaan whispered so low Rudra almost missed it:
"…sorry."
Rudra's throat worked, dry.
If he opened his mouth now, something other than cold professionalism might slip out.
So he said nothing.
But he didn't move away.
To be continued....