Inside the compound, Riley sees the house towering ahead. He follows the straight path toward the massive door, feeling the gravel crunch under his shoes.
The house is huge, all sharp lines and white walls. Why do they need a house this big? He pushes the thought aside and keeps moving.
The guard stops at the edge of the path. Riley approaches the keypad, keys in the code he was sent.
The door slides open on its own. No handle, he steps inside.
The interior is almost entirely white and black. Walls, floors, and ceiling all gleam. The floor is polished so he can see his reflection clearly.
Titles etched into the floor catch the light, bright and crisp. He glances around, unsure which way to go.
Hallways stretch ahead, straight and precise.
He walks slowly, each step echoing against the hard, empty space. There is nothing to guide him, no furniture, no signs beyond the faint titles on the floor.
He searches for the living room, scanning the expansive space in front of him. His eyes catch the massive couches, soft and inviting, arranged around a pristine glass table.
Finally, he finds a spot, carefully lays Skye down, and exhales a heavy, trembling sigh.
The couches are deceptively soft, more comfortable than any bed he's slept in recently.
The boy's small form sinks gently into the cushions, and Riley can't help but momentarily marvel at how perfectly he seems to fit into the calm of this house.
Just as Riley is about to lift himself, ready to leave, he feels a tiny, insistent grip. Fingers clutch at his hoodie, tiny and delicate but surprisingly strong for the boy's size.
He stops, brows knitting in concern. "Skye?" he whispers softly.
The boy stirs slightly but doesn't open his eyes. His breathing is still shallow, uneven.
"Seriously," he mutters to himself, voice low and rough, "where is his mom? She isn't even here at this time, or is she out there looking for him? Maybe she should just run around, go mad about it, so maybe next time she won't do something so reckless." The words tumble out before he can stop them, half frustration, half exhaustion.
His own body, equally worn from the long night, begins to give in. He leans back into the cushions, letting the comfort of the couch press against his spine, letting the warmth from Skye seep through him.
He barely notices as his eyelids droop. Before he knows it, sleep claims him without permission, dragging him under like a wave he has no strength to resist.
Somewhere in that deep, reluctant sleep, they shift. Somehow, their bodies move without conscious thought, and Skye's head comes to rest on Riley's chest, small and vulnerable against him.
For a long while, neither of them stirs. Time passes in quiet, measured breaths, until somewhere in Riley's sleep, he senses a presence.
It's faint at first, but insistent enough to jolt him awake.
He sits up quickly, muscles stiff, and in the motion, his forehead collides sharply with someone else's.
His lips follow almost instantly, finding another pair entirely by accident. The moment is fleeting, frozen, a blur of shock and disbelief, and then instinctively, both of them pull back at the same time.
Riley's eyes widen as he blinks rapidly, trying to process what just happened.
In front of him stands a man, expression unreadable, calm.. yet somehow intense enough to make Riley feel unsteady.
Henry Scott.
He had been watching them sleep, almost for half an hour, watching Skye's tiny fingers cling to the stranger as if to stop him from leaving.
He had moved only seconds ago, leaning toward his son with one hand brushing against his hair and face, just reaching out, and in that moment, the collision happened.
Riley's body feels frozen as he still blinks. Then he suddenly swipes at his lips, wiping them violently with the back of his hand. "What the hell?!" he snaps, voice sharp, heart hammering in his chest.
Henry smirks faintly, rubbing the center of his forehead with one long, elegant hand. "That really hurts," he murmurs, voice low, teasing, almost too casual in contrast to the chaos Riley feels inside.
"That… is your apology?!" Riley blurts, still pressing his hand against his lips, heart hammering with an almost painful rhythm.
His mind spins, every thought fractured. His lips just touched a man's lips. Does that mean anything? Does it make him gay? His parents... if they were here now.. would freak, they would scold, judge, maybe even accuse him of all sorts of ridiculous things, calling it a disease.
Would they have disowned him too?!
The absurdity of it presses against his brain like a physical weight.
"In this case, who is supposed to be apologizing?!" Henry's casual voice comes. "You did the whole thing! I was just minding my business when you hit my head, and as if that wasn't enough, you kissed me?!" He adds.
Hearing that he "kissed him" it hits Riley differently, he reacts instinctively, leaping to his feet and spins toward the door.
But before he can even go far, Henry is there, solid, unmoving, blocking his path with quiet authority.
"I apologize for the trouble I've caused you since last night," He says, voice deep, measured, calm, but carrying an intensity that freezes Riley in place, much like it did the night before.
For a fleeting second, Riley can't stop himself from raising his eyes fully, really looking at the man in front of him.
The same kind of men Riley admires, the ones he dreams of becoming like, the ones he has watched in magazines and on television... all those impossibly handsome, confident figures, he is staring at one in real life now.
The effect is almost unfair. Every feature, every angle, every movement seems designed to captivate, to command attention effortlessly.
Skye's small sob pulls Riley back to the present. The weight of the boy, his soft whimpers, makes him pivot without thinking, moving toward him.
Henry follows silently, measured steps that somehow don't feel intrusive but commanding. "You're finally awake," Riley murmurs, voice softening, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
Skye wraps his tiny arms around his neck, still trembling slightly as if he is still scared, and Riley can't help but wonder.... Why is the boy wrapping his arms around him, when his father is present? Shouldn't he be running into his father's arms, feeling safe at last?
Riley pushes the thought aside; none of it is his concern.
Standing, he gently sets Skye upright. He looks at Henry before speaking, "Okay, I'll head out now. You're welcome... even without your 'thank you,' " he says before turning to leave.
Henry's words stop him. "We haven't settled everything. What's the hurry? I would like to thank you properly. You really helped me greatly." He bends down, picking up Skye, who seems to be crying silently, and cradles him in his arms.
What does he mean? Riley wonders, eyes narrowing slightly. Does he want to give me more money? Fine. How could I say no to that? He looks like he has more to waste than I can even imagine…
"I don't have time for long," Riley says, turning slightly, voice clipped, though the curiosity burns in his chest. "Whatever it is, can it be fast? I have somewhere I need to rush to."
Before Henry can answer, his phone rings. He lifts it quickly, pressing it to his ear. "Yes?" His voice is calm, professional.
"Sir," a voice comes from the other end, urgent but respectful, "the H.R. group is here, and they're finally ready to talk about the project."
Henry's face tightens in a flash of relief. "Keep them busy for a second. I'll be there right away!" He hands Skye to Riley mid-motion. "Can you please take care of him just for a moment? I'll be back, I'm going to make it up to yo..." But before he can finish, he's already moving, striding toward the door.
"I can't!" Riley starts to protest, but it dies in his throat as Henry disappears through the door, leaving only the echo of his presence behind.