Adrian stepped into the room without turning on the lights.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, familiar, practiced. His phone was still on loudspeaker, balanced loosely in his palm as he loosened his tie with one hand.
The voice on the other end droned on about schedules, confirmations, things that required acknowledgment.
"Yes," he said, voice low, already walking toward the table.
A pause.
"No, move it to next week. I don't want any delays."
He slipped off his watch, placed it on the table out of habit, shrugged out of his coat, and reached for the glass of water waiting there—untouched since morning. The water was room temperature. He drank it anyway, slow and steady, as the voice on the other end continued, listing things he'd already memorized.
"That's all," Adrian said finally. "Send me the summary."
The call ended.
Silence filled the room, thick but not unfamiliar.
He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, then lifted his eyes—and caught his reflection in the mirror across the room.
Tailored shirt. Broad shoulders. Everything exactly where it should be.
And yet.
The dark circles beneath his eyes stood out more in the dim light. His face looked... worn out. Not weak, just tired in a way sleep never seemed to fix.
He held his own gaze for a second longer, as if expecting something to speak back.
Nothing did.
He exhaled through his nose and looked away.
"Get it together," he muttered, more habit than command.
He changed quickly, movements efficient, automatic.
The room remained quiet except for the faint rustle of fabric. When he finally sat on the edge of the bed, he reached for the small strip of pills on the nightstand. One tablet. Then another glance at the clock.
11:40pm.
He swallowed the pill with another sip of water and laid back, staring at the ceiling.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Sleep didn't come.
He turned to his side. Then the other.
The sheets felt too neat, too untouched, like the bed belonged to someone who never truly lived in it. His mind refused to slow down.
Thoughts came and went, overlapping, unfinished.
Eventually, he gave up.
By the time he checked again, the clock read 12:35a.m.
A quiet scoff escaped him. "Figures."
He pushed himself up and stepped onto the balcony, the night air brushing against his skin like a reminder that the world was still moving. The city lights stretched endlessly below, distant and indifferent.
He lit a cigarette.
The flame flared briefly before settling, smoke curling into the dark as he took a slow drag. His shoulders loosened just a little—not relief, just familiarity. He rested his forearms against the railing and closed his eyes.
And then—
A voice.
Soft. Warm. Too close.
"Addy."
His breath hitched before he could stop it.
Another memory followed, blurred at the edges. Not a face—never a face. Just a presence. A woman's voice again, gentle but firm.
"You should eat properly. Vegetables too. Don't make that face."
...
"Just get lost. It's all because of you." Another voice creaked.
His jaw tightened.
The memory slipped away as quickly as it had come, leaving behind something unnamed, something pressing against his chest without permission. He opened his eyes, staring straight ahead, smoke drifting upward.
He didn't cry.
He never did.
His phone buzzed in his hand.
Mark: Dude. It's done.
Adrian typed back immediately.
Adrian: Good.
A second message followed, slower this time.
Mark: Eat something. Take your meds. Try to sleep.
For a moment, Adrian didn't reply.
Then—
Adrian: Yeah. You too.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and took another drag, watching the cigarette burn down between his fingers. Ash fell, unnoticed.
Above him, the sky remained quiet.
Unbothered.
He stayed there, unmoving, until the smoke faded and the night swallowed him whole again.
Morning arrived without ceremony.
Adrian was already awake by the time the light crept in through the curtains.
Not because he'd slept well—because his body had learned not to wait for rest. He moved through the routine on muscle memory alone.
Shirt first, buttons done neatly. The coat went over one shoulder, phone balanced in one hand, a coffee mug warming the other.
Black. No sugar. The way he liked everything.
He took a sip, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular as the day settled around him.
Somewhere beyond the gate, a car horn blared. Once. Then again. And again—far too impatient to belong to anyone else.
"Addyy!" Mark's voice followed, loud and unapologetic. "Are you planning to walk to work today or what?"
Adrian didn't rush. He took one last sip of his coffee, grabbed a can from the counter, and headed out.
The morning air was sharp when he stepped outside.
Mark was leaning against the car, sunglasses on, already talking as if the conversation had started five minutes ago.
"You know," Mark said, "normal people greet a 'Good morning' when they meet at this time. "
Adrian didn't answer. He simply tossed the can in Mark's direction without looking.
Mark caught it easily, eyebrows lifting. A grin spread across his face.
"See? This is why I tolerate you," he said, popping it open. "Acts like he doesn't care, remembers exactly what I drink."
Adrian locked the door behind him, adjusting his coat. "You're loud in the morning."
"And you're grumpy before coffee," Mark shot back. "Balance."
They got into the car without another word.
The engine started, the gate slid open, and the city slowly came alive around them.
Adrian stared ahead, coffee still in his hand, expression unreadable. From the outside, it looked like just another morning—two men heading to work, routine intact, everything in place.
No one would guess how carefully he held himself together.
And that was exactly how he preferred it.
Adrian entered the office like he always did—quiet, deliberate, untouched by the buzz around him.
The glass doors slid open, and conversations lowered instinctively. His presence did not need instructions.
At the reception desk, Mary stood straight, tablet in hand, posture precise. Mark, on the other hand, leaned casually against the counter, entirely at ease in a way that belonged only to him.
"You know, Miss Mary," Mark said, smiling a little too easily, "if you keep looking this serious, people might think you don't enjoy working here".
Mary replied calmly without looking at him, "I don't enjoy distractions".
Mark chuckled, "That's a very diplomatic way of rejecting me."
She finally met his eyes, unflustered, "Someone has to be."
Mark was about to say something else when the air shifted.
Mary sensed it first.
Her shoulders stiffened just slightly as Adrian walked past. No greeting. No teasing. Just a respectful nod from her side.
"Good morning, Mr. Williams," she said, voice measured.
Adrian acknowledged it with a brief glance. "Morning."
That was all.
He moved on, coat already unbottoned, mind somewhere else. Mark followed him into the inner office, his expression changing into an attentive one. He knew when not to joke.
Adrian placed his phone on the desk, loosened his cufflinks, and exhaled slowly.
"You look like you didn't sleep," Mark said carefully.
"I slept enough," Adrian replied. Which usually meant not at all.
Before the silence could stretch further, one of the associates knocked and stepped in, holding a folder.
"Sir, there's an invitation that came in this morning. A private exhibition. Very exclusive. High-profile crowd.
Adrian didn't even turn. "Not interested."
The associate hesitated. "It's being hosted by—"
"I don't attend such gatherings." Adrian said tone flat.
"At least you should try going out." Mark said softly.
"You know I don't like crowds." Adrian shot back.
Mark sighed softly, "You don't like anything which is not illegal or dangerous."
Adrian shot him a look. "You can go in my place."
"You know I hate those too. Too much small talk. Too many people trying to impress."
"That's literally your skill set."
Before Mark could argue, Mary appeared at the door, holding an envelope this time. She knocked once.
"Sir," she said, stepping in only after Adrian nodded. "This arrived for you. Physical copy."
She placed it neatly on the desk and stepped back, eyes lowered out of respect.
Mark peaked. "Oh! I am loving the cover."
Adrian picked it up.
The paper was heavy. Expensive.
His eyes scanned it once.
Then stopped.
Creative director—
'Anna Nightwell'
Adrian frozen as the name landed quietly.
The name didn't echo.
It didn't crash.
It simply...stayed.
Mark noticed the pause. "What?"
"Nothing."Adrian said.
Mark took a look at it, reading aloud, "Exclusive exhibition.... private viewing... hosted by Unicorn studios..."
Adrian was still in his thoughts.
Mark continued, unaware, "Creative director -Anna Nightwell."
Mark stopped.
Adrian took the invitation from his hands. He folded it and placed it inside the drawer.
They both shared a look.
"I'm not going." Adrian added, final.
Mark studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Alright".
The office returned to its rhythm.
But something had already been filled away — quietly, deliberately — waiting.