Married to Mr. Laurent
Chapter Eighteen: Something Like Breathing
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Elián didn't come to breakfast.
Kairo noticed immediately.
He didn't ask the maid. Didn't call for him. Just sat at the head of the long, cold table and stared at the untouched plate across from his.
He hated how much he noticed now.
Every silence was louder.
Every absence, heavier.
He reached for the black coffee and took a sip, but it tasted like guilt. So he set it back down and left the table, his steps taking him toward the part of the house he rarely entered.
Elián's wing.
The door was closed.
He stood in front of it for a moment, hand hovering just short of knocking. Then, carefully, he pushed the door open.
The boy was asleep.
Or pretending to be.
He lay curled on his side, covers tangled at his waist, the pale morning light catching on the soft strands of his hair. His lips were parted slightly, breath slow.
Peaceful.
Kairo's chest ached.
He remembered a time when he looked at this boy with nothing but resentment. A stranger forced into his life. A problem he didn't want.
But now…
Now he didn't know what this was.
He shut the door quietly.
He'd let him rest.
---
Elián opened his eyes the moment the door clicked closed.
He didn't know why he pretended to sleep. He'd heard Kairo's steps. Knew the scent of his cologne.
Maybe part of him wanted to know if the man still looked at him.
If he still cared.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
Lately, everything felt like waiting.
Waiting for Kairo to snap again.
Waiting for his own heart to quiet.
Waiting for the moment he could finally understand what this all meant.
---
By afternoon, it rained.
Not a violent downpour—just a quiet, persistent drizzle that turned the world into a painting behind fogged-up glass.
Elián stood by the window in the study, arms crossed loosely as he watched the droplets chase one another down the pane.
Kairo entered behind him without a word.
No suit today. Just a soft black sweater and slacks, his hair still damp from the shower. He looked… younger like this.
Softer.
Elián didn't turn.
"Do you always look like that when it rains?" Kairo asked quietly.
"Like what?"
"Like you're waiting for something that never comes."
Elián's throat tightened. "Rain is the only thing that ever came back for me."
Kairo moved closer. "That's not true anymore."
Elián turned then, slowly, his gaze steady.
"Don't say things you'll regret."
"I won't regret meaning it."
Kairo stepped closer.
Elián didn't move.
"I hurt you," Kairo said. "I won't pretend otherwise. But I want to change that."
"You already changed it," Elián said. "You made me afraid of being loved."
Kairo flinched.
"I'm not good with soft things," he whispered.
"I wasn't asking you to be," Elián replied. "I was just hoping you wouldn't break the one in front of you."
Silence stretched between them like a held breath.
Then, quietly, Elián said, "Do you even know how to love someone?"
Kairo didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached out—slow, hesitant—and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Elián's ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long against his skin.
"I'm still learning," Kairo said.
Elián closed his eyes.
"I don't want to be your lesson," he said. "I want to be someone you choose."
Kairo's hand dropped.
"I'm trying to."
Elián opened his eyes again, voice steadier now. "Then stop speaking with your mouth and start speaking with your actions."
Kairo nodded.
Then, to Elián's shock, he turned and left.
Just like that.
No arguments. No demands. No sudden storm.
Just… a quiet departure.
Elián didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
---
That night, Elián couldn't sleep.
The sound of the rain had returned, gentler now, like a lullaby meant only for him.
He tossed and turned, kicked off the covers, then pulled them back again.
And then—
A soft knock at his door.
He blinked.
"Who is it?"
Kairo's voice was quiet. "Can I come in?"
Elián sat up. "It's late."
"I know."
Elián hesitated. Then, "Okay."
Kairo entered slowly, holding something in his hands.
A sketchbook.
Elián blinked again. "What's that?"
Kairo stepped closer and offered it to him. "Something I haven't shown anyone."
Elián took it, cautious.
He flipped open the cover and froze.
Inside, drawn in soft pencil strokes—was himself.
Sleeping. Reading. Looking out the window. Drinking tea.
Dozens of sketches.
All of him.
All moments no one else had ever seen.
"You…" His voice faltered.
"You said to show you," Kairo murmured. "So I am."
Elián looked up, stunned. "You drew these?"
"I needed somewhere to put all the feelings I couldn't say."
Elián's fingers trembled as he turned the pages.
"You watched me," he whispered.
"I saw you."
Kairo sat beside him on the bed, careful not to touch.
Elián closed the book gently and placed it on the nightstand.
For a long moment, they didn't speak.
Then Kairo asked, "Can I stay? Just to sleep."
Elián looked at him. Really looked.
Then, wordlessly, he lay down and lifted the covers slightly.
Kairo slid in beside him, careful not to brush against his skin.
The rain continued outside.
And for the first time, silence didn't feel empty.
It felt like breathing.
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End of Chapter 18