The villa
The silver car glided to a halt before the villa gates.
The afternoon sun lingered on the marble pillars, making the place gleam like something out of a dream — or, as Liam thought, a nightmare with good lighting.
Ethan stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with composed grace. His every movement was measured, quiet, deliberate — the kind of elegance that came naturally to a man who rarely needed to speak to be obeyed.
Liam followed, his sunglasses reflecting the villa's grand façade. The corners of his lips curved into a faint, mocking smirk.
"So this is your palace," he said, voice edged with cold amusement. "The only reason I'm standing here is because of my parents. Don't get any wrong ideas."
Ethan merely smiled — the kind of calm smile that gave nothing away yet somehow said everything.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, tone smooth as silk.
Inside, the villa was vast and immaculate, every line polished into perfection. The air carried a faint scent of sandalwood and something unnameably expensive. Liam's gaze roamed across the tall chandeliers, marble floor, and soft drapes that seemed to whisper money.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue softly. "Even the air smells rich."
Ethan ignored the jab. "Miles," he called, and the butler appeared almost immediately — grey-haired, precise, the sort of man who seemed born in a tuxedo.
"Yes, sir?"
"Prepare something light for lunch."
"Of course, sir."
When Miles disappeared into the kitchen, silence filled the hall.
Liam sat on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, tapping his fingers on the armrest. Ethan leaned casually against the doorway, his gaze resting on Liam — steady, unreadable, almost tender.
For a moment, silence stretched between the two. Liam sat on the sofa, legs crossed, tapping his fingers on the armrest.
Ethan stood near the window, watching him — his eyes soft, unreadable.
When Liam finally noticed, he snapped his fingers. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. "Nothing," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "Just… making sure you're comfortable."
Liam scoffed. "I'm not. And stop looking at me like I'm some fragile flower."
Ethan smiled faintly. "You? A fragile flower? Not possible."
That earned him a glare, but the corner of Liam's lips twitched. Just a little.
After Miles left to set the table, the two sat in the living room — quiet, awkward, pretending to ignore each other.
When the food arrived, Liam stared down at his plate. "No spice. No flavor. Is this a diet or a punishment?"
Ethan calmly passed him a glass of juice. "Healthy food. You should try appreciating it."
Liam picked up the fork dramatically. "You really want me to die from sadness, huh?"
Ethan hid a smile behind his glass. "You'll live."
Later, while Ethan was called away for a business meeting, Liam wandered through the villa.
Every corner seemed too clean, too peaceful — and that made him restless.
He entered a room and stopped.
It was filled with small things that looked familiar — a favorite color on the walls, books he liked, and a framed photograph by the bedside.
His heart skipped.
The picture showed him and Ethan — smiling, standing too close, arms wrapped around each other.
Liam frowned. "Photoshop. Has to be."
But his chest felt weirdly warm. For a second, he almost believed the smile was real.
Almost.
He quickly turned away, muttering, "What kind of joke is this…? Me and that jerk?"
As if summoned, Ethan's voice came from behind him. "You're talking to yourself again."
Liam spun around, nearly dropping the photo. "You! Stop sneaking up on me!"
Ethan chuckled. "You were staring at our photo quite seriously. I thought you remembered something."
Liam huffed. "Yeah, I remembered that I hated your guts in college."
"Progress," Ethan said lightly, hands in his pockets. "At least you remember something."
Liam pointed at him. "Don't test me,"
Ethan leaned slightly closer, his voice low and teasing. "You really like calling me that."
Liam blinked, caught off guard. "Because it suits you!"
Ethan smiled, a slow, soft smile that made Liam's heart skip even though he'd never admit it.
That night, Ethan returned home late. Liam had fallen asleep on the sofa, TV still on, one hand under his cheek.
For a moment, Ethan just stood there, looking at him — that same boy who once argued about everything but still smiled like sunlight.
He whispered to himself, "Still beautiful… even when you call me a jerk."
He switched off the TV, bent down, and gently brushed a strand of hair off Liam's face.
"Sleep well," he murmured, kissing his forehead softly.
Liam mumbled something in his sleep — something that sounded suspiciously like "annoying jerk" —
and Ethan couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah," he whispered, "that's me."