The video spread like wildfire—unstoppable and merciless. Within mere hours, it had clawed its way across every corner of the internet. News blogs, gossip channels, social media feeds... all screaming the same thing: the kiss. Our kiss.
What hit me hardest wasn't the attention or the scandal—it was him. Jake. The way his smile faltered a little more each hour, how his body language curled tighter, smaller, quieter. The unwanted attention clung to him like static—colleagues pretending to need help just to be near him, whispers tracing his every step.
The workday was a blur of calls and tests, new deals and interviews. I barely had time to breathe, let alone check my phone. When I finally did, it nearly burst in my hands—buzzing violently with notifications, messages, missed calls. It was like the entire world was screaming at me through that small screen.
Then I saw it.
Fifty missed calls. From my mom. My heart dropped into my stomach. She rarely called unless it was urgent, and fifty times? That wasn't concern. That was alarm.
Without hesitation, I called her back.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. And then a voice—familiar, but not hers.
"Where are you?" It was my sister, Jennifer. Her voice was low, clipped, not her usual teasing self. Something was off.
"Jennifer—give the phone to Mom," I said, sharply.
And... she did.
Just like that. No sass, no jokes. No calling me a 'bossy big brother.' She handed it over.
A pit opened in my chest. My sister always loved to mess with me. If she wasn't doing it now, something had gone terribly wrong.
"Leo. I want you to come home today."
It was my mother's voice—calm but edged with purpose.
"What is it, Mom?" I asked, trying to sound collected.
"Come home with him today…and have dinner with us."
The way she said "him"—so measured, so controlled—hit me like a physical blow. She knows.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off.
That silence on the other end wasn't hurt or sadness. It was plain order. No emotion. Just expectation.
If she knows… this means the video has reached them. Which explains the reason for my father to call me.
My family is always straightforward. Mom. Dad. And that infuriating little sister.
Growing up, emotional distance was the norm. My parents never cared about my choices—not about who I dated, what I believed in, or how I felt. They only expected me to take over the family business and do the job of being their son.
It was fine for me—mostly because it was all I knew.
But my mother... she was different.
Her voice carried care. Sometimes softness. Never approval, but always quiet support. She was the one who stood by me, even when everyone else treated love like a liability. Through every awkward phase and identity battle, she was that steady anchor—much like Raven.
She loved me in the way I needed. Not the way I was "supposed" to be loved, but in a way that felt real.
After a few minutes of letting my mother's words sink into my bones, I picked up my phone and stared at the black screen—silent, still, judgmental. I wasn't just holding a device. I was holding the weight of a thousand unsaid things.
My thumb hovered over his contact. I could've asked my assistant to call him, to make it all look official, distant—like every other decision I make in this building. But that would've only drawn more attention. Whispers. Side glances. Headlines.
And truthfully… I didn't want distance.
So I called him.
My voice came out softer than I expected. "Can you meet me on the roof? Ten minutes?"
There was no pause, no questioning, no hesitation.
"Okay," he said.
Just like that. Okay.
I ended the call but didn't put the phone down. I just sat there, the silence louder now than it had been all day. My thoughts tangled themselves like wires—messy and sharp-edged. How do I explain any of this to him? The kiss. The video. The call from my mother. The fact that my heart is doing something I've never asked it to do?
The seconds ticked by like hours. I was usually good with words. With control. With orchestrating my world.
But right now? I couldn't string a single sentence together.
Ten minutes.
And somehow, those ten minutes felt like they were leading me to something irreversible.
Through the whirlwind of thoughts in my head, I somehow made it to the rooftop a minute earlier than planned — I didn't want him to wait, not even for a second. And almost as if the universe was timing it all, within moments, he appeared.
There he was, standing in front of me. He looked tired… not physically, but emotionally. There was this flicker of a smile on his face — a forced one, clearly put there just for me.
"What is it?" Jake asked. His voice tried to sound normal, but it cracked ever so slightly. No mask could hide the storm he was carrying inside.
"I…" I didn't even get to finish. Before I could piece together the words, a single tear slid down his cheek — and that one tear said more than anything he could've spoken.
Panic swelled in me. I've never had to comfort someone like this before. What do you do when someone breaks right in front of you and you don't know how to catch all the pieces?
Then I remembered something… Jennifer. My little sister. The way she once cried after getting hurt and all I could do was hold her until it passed.
So, I did the same.
I stepped forward, slowly — not to startle him. One hand found the back of his head, the other curled around his back, gently. I pulled him toward me, easing his head onto my shoulder.
And then… he let go.
He cried.
Not just a few quiet tears — he wept, like his heart had finally hit the edge and needed to spill over. I held him tighter. I didn't say a word. I didn't try to fix it. I just stayed there — steady, warm, safe.
The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and the cold evening breeze swept in — carrying with it the stillness of the night. We stood there, unmoving, wrapped in that silence, until I felt Jake gently press a hand to my chest. A quiet signal: I'm okay now.
I let go.
He pulled back and stood steady on his own feet again, his eyes no longer brimming but softer now. Lighter.
We wandered a few steps and found a quiet spot by the railing. The wind curled around us, biting but not cruel — the kind of cold that wakes you up gently. I noticed the tip of his nose pink, his hands tucked in too tightly to his sides, the shiver that he tried to hide. Without a word, I slipped off my coat and draped it over his shoulders.
He didn't resist. Just stood there, quietly taking in the comfort.
After a while, his voice floated into the night, soft and hesitant.
"Why did you ask me here?"
I turned my eyes to the city skyline and sighed. "I'm sorry."
He looked at me, startled. "Hey… it's not your fault."
"But still…"