The city stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, its twinkling lights softened by a light mist. Festive decorations adorned the streets below, but their cheer felt distant, muted by the height and quiet of the space, where nothing mattered more than case files. Yet, despite the orderly calm, there was a subtle unease in the air, like the moments before a storm when everything feels just a little too still.

The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated the neatly stacked reports, countless pages of transcripts, footage analysis, forensic reports, and expert findings. Jay carefully reviewed the housemaid's interview, methodically underlining key details and jotting notes in the margins, followed by small post-its sticking outside the pages like a colourful legend.

The account was detailed but felt rehearsed in parts, as though her words had been chosen too carefully. His pen paused over a statement about the timing of her errand and reached for the file with a comprehensive report on findings from the nearest cameras when a sudden knock disturbed his thought process.

"Sorry to disturb you," Margaret started, walking into his office. "I just wanted to ask about an update on the case."

Jay looked at her with unusual surprise. This was something they could handle over email, so there was no need to see him in person. The unexpected attention felt unnecessary, a distraction at best. Yet, seeing her stopping by again brought an unease he couldn't quite place, like a shadow intruding on his meticulously controlled world, faint but insistent in its presence.

"The investigation team delivered everything today. I will need another week to organise it and finalise the defence," he responded, his tone carrying just enough edge to deter further questions.

Despite Margaret standing just a couple steps away from his desk, Jay opened the file with footage analysis. It was a silent but unmistakable signal that the conversation was over. His focus entirely shifted to the neat rows of text as though they held the antidote to the unwelcome thoughts creeping at the edges of his mind. Whatever lingered in her presence was dismissed with methodical precision, buried beneath the weight of the case demanding his attention.

The click of the door opening broke the stillness, and Sean stepped inside. "Good evening, Miss Anderson," he greeted her politely.

Jay almost instantly lifted his head, his gaze pulled from the open file as if on instinct. But something about his eyes unsettled Sean. The usual effortless shift from indifference to warmth when Jay looked at him was absent, replaced by a guarded, almost vacant look that lingered for just a fraction too long before softening. It wasn't like Jay. Sean knew the subtle nuances of his expressions better than anyone, and this moment felt wrong.

"Am I interrupting?" Sean asked carefully.

"Not at all. I was just leaving, but it's good to see you, Sean," Margaret said, turning around with a professional smile. "Your supervisor spoke highly of you and suggested you would benefit more from shadowing our senior associates during client meetings, court appearances, and negotiation sessions. If you keep up your stellar performance, we can count it towards your training contract. Does that sound like something you would be interested in?"

"Yes, thank you, Miss Anderson," Sean replied with a polite nod. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"Perfect, I will give him the green light to make arrangements," she responded, pausing by the door momentarily. "It will get more busy for you, so manage your studies well."

"Of course."

After Margaret left, silence lingered, and Sean struggled to shake the unease settling over him. In five months of living with Jay, he had never seen him interact with his mother, not at the firm or anywhere else. The detached professionalism between them felt strange and unnatural to him but, at the same time, seamless as a well-oiled machine. It was as if he stumbled onto something he wasn't meant to see.

"How long are you planning to stand there?"

Suddenly, Jay's playful tone pulled Sean out of his thoughts. The shift was so stark from the indifference that had hung over him moments earlier that it almost made Sean jump. It reminded him of the early days of their relationship, when Jay would swiftly change the mood, sidestepping any potential issues. Sean smiled faintly, walked over, and leaned across the desk to kiss him.

"Are you okay?" Sean asked, gently brushing his thumb over Jay's cheekbone.

Jay froze for a second before smiling brightly. "Huh? That came out of nowhere. Why wouldn't I be okay?" he asked lightly. "I even have investigation team findings to play with."

His eyebrows furrowed worriedly as Sean hesitated, unsure how to handle this... how to navigate a line that felt impossibly thin. He took a slow breath, then moved around the desk and leaned on it beside Jay.

"You and your mother are not very close, are you?" he said off-handedly.

Jay's fingers subconsciously brushed the edge of the file in a familiar instinct to retreat and hide behind the work. Yet, his gaze lifted to Sean, a faint, easy smile appearing on his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I guess so," he said lightly, his tone conversational as if they were discussing a distant acquaintance rather than his own mother. "Anyway, have you decided if we are visiting Izzy for New Year?"

His words flowed seamlessly, redirecting the focus with such finesse that, for anyone else, it might have been convincing. But Sean wasn't anyone else.

Jay felt it, the vulnerability creeping in like an unwelcome intruder. Letting Sean in, even just a fraction, had weakened the defences he had spent a lifetime perfecting. Once impenetrable walls now bore cracks he hadn't noticed until it was too late. His body betrayed him as his jaw slightly tightened and his shoulders shifted faintly. He hated it, this unfamiliar weight pressing down on him, but he hated more the thought of letting it show.

"It's up to you, but he is going to cry that you don't love him anymore," Jay added, his smile brightening slightly as if that could mask the fleeting discomfort.

"Izzy can cry all he wants," Sean rolled his eyes with amusement. "I'm already nice enough to answer his video calls every other day. He is like an overbearing mother hen. If I will give in once, I will never get rid of him."

"Did you move all the way here to escape from Izzy?"

"You got me," Sean chuckled, but his gaze stayed focused on his face as he continued carefully, "Is there a reason you are not close?"

Now Jay visibly froze, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes betrayed a quiet but fierce tug-of-war playing out in his mind. He couldn't lie to Sean, but telling him the truth? That felt impossible. He forced himself to relax, leaning back slightly in his chair as if the movement could distance him from the question.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, casual even, but there was a faint tension in his posture, like a taut string waiting to snap. "When you grow up in a family like mine, 'close' doesn't really mean what it does for most people. It's all about appearances, obligations, and... not much else. You get used to it."

Sean stayed quiet for a moment, watching what felt like a performance polished to perfection. But he wasn't blind to or surprised by his reaction or the way his words seemed to glide past the question rather than answer it. Jay was good at this, at slipping through conversations like water, but he had learned to spot the ripples.

"That's it? Just appearances and obligations? Nothing else?" Sean asked, gently wrapping Jay's tie around his finger. "I don't know... Doesn't sound like something you would just get used to."

Jay shook his head. "It's different when you grow up with it."

Sean involuntarily nodded, though the idea felt foreign to him. Growing up with loving parents who had always been present, he struggled to imagine what it must have been like for Jay. Yet, as unfamiliar as it was, he understood that for him, it must have been normal.

It was sad, but it also explained why Jay stiffened at unexpected affection or often kept his distance, even with him. He must not have had much of it growing up. Sean wanted to ask, to push just a little further, but he knew how delicate moments like this could be. One wrong word, one misstep, and the fragile openness could vanish with Jay's walls snapping back into place stronger than ever.

But letting him sidestep it entirely didn't sit right either. The silence left behind would only grow heavier, and Sean wasn't sure if he could bear it.

Finally, he exhaled softly, his voice low as he leaned a little closer. "Do you ever wish it had been different?"

Jay shrugged, pulled his tie out of Sean's hand and smiled. "I still have to deal with this," he started, tapping the opened file. "You should go home first."

This blunt dismissal undeniably hurt, but Sean forced a faint smile, his hand slipping away from the desk as he straightened. "Sure, I will see you later."

As the door closed behind Sean, Jay sunk heavily into the chair with his head tilted upward, closing his eyes briefly as if seeking respite but finding none. Despite his deeply ingrained defence mechanisms, his mind slipped back to times he wished it was different... to a winter evening in his dorm room at Westminster School.

The room balanced minimalism and quiet opulence. Polished wooden floors, a sleek desk neatly arranged with books and an upholstered chair that seemed far too comfortable for a child's dormitory. A soft lamp cast a warm glow over the space, though its warmth did little to fill the quiet emptiness surrounding him.

Ten-year-old Jay sat at the edge of his bed, his legs crossed neatly at the ankles, his back straight in the posture drilled into him since infancy. He was holding a sleek mobile phone, one of the latest models his mother had sent him with a cold and glossy surface, just like her. Finally, he gathered the courage and made the call.

When his mother's voice came through, it carried its usual clipped precision, devoid of the warmth most mothers reserved for their children. "Hello, darling," she began, each syllable enunciated as if she were concluding a business deal.

Jay hesitated, his knuckles whitening as they gripped the phone. The question had been rehearsed so many times in his head, but now it felt monumental. He forced himself to speak. "Mother... Can I come home for Christmas this year?"

There was a pause, long enough that he thought the line had disconnected. Then came the faint sound of her fingers tapping against a keyboard, followed by a soft sigh.

"James Henry Sebastian William," Margaret said sharply, her tone a warning in itself. "How many times must we have this conversation? You're staying at school for Christmas, and you'll attend the ski camp in Verbier for the rest of the break. Do you think I have time to rearrange everything because you suddenly want to come home? You're not a child."

"But I just..." he started, his voice faltering as her words cut into him and 'don't want to be alone' was left unsaid.

"Stop this nonsense," she interrupted, her voice growing firmer. "I'm very busy. You have all the resources you need to succeed where you are. Christmas is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Do I make myself clear?"

Jay's throat tightened, his free hand clutching the edge of the bed so hard his fingers ached. "Yes, Mother," he murmured, barely audible.

"Good. Now stop this silliness and focus on your studies. I'll see you at the end of the school year," Margaret said briskly, and the line went dead.

For a moment, Jay remained frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear as though willing her to call back and soften her words. But the silence that followed felt colder than the winter air creeping through the cracks of the window frame. His shoulders slumped, and the sting of tears began to blur his vision.

Suddenly, the door to the adjoining bathroom creaked open, and Victor's head peeked through the gap. The moment he saw him, Victor didn't hesitate. He rushed into the room, his small arms wrapping tightly around him, pulling him close without a word.

"She said no again, didn't she?" Victor asked hesitantly, seeing his vacant gaze.

Jay brushed off his cheeks and tried to smile. "It's fine. I should have known better."

"No, it's not fine... you don't deserve to be left alone here."

"It's just how things are," Jay shrugged, though his voice lacked conviction.

Victor was about to say something when the dorm supervisor came to collect him, announcing that his driver had arrived to take him home. He felt heartbroken for his friend, though he didn't yet realise this was the last time he would ever see Jay cry.

Once left alone, Jay fell back onto the mattress, his hands clenching the duvet as his chest tightened. But the tears didn't come. He wouldn't let them. Instead, his mind replayed the call and how she said his name. James Henry Sebastian William. The full weight of it... a reprimand, a reminder that his feelings were irrelevant compared to her plans.

It wasn't just rejection but a confirmation that mother's love was something he would never have. The longing for it felt childish now, a misplaced hope he could no longer afford to entertain.

And so, in the stillness of that moment, he made a decision. He would stop asking, stop hoping. What couldn't be given freely wasn't worth chasing. His mother had taught him that.

He drew in a shaky breath as a quiet resolve began to form, hardening like steel beneath the weight of his disappointment. If he couldn't rely on her, he would depend on himself. Jay sat up straight, smoothing the duvet where his fingers had gripped it. The walls were already beginning to rise.

And for the first time, he realised how much easier it was to feel nothing at all.

Jay opened his eyes, the ceiling above offering no comfort or clarity. His shoulders sank slightly, betraying a heaviness he didn't dare acknowledge aloud. Some things never changed... but some did. He foolishly forgot how much easier it was to not feel anything.

The living room was quiet, the soft light of the late afternoon filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the sleek, minimalist space. The white leather sofa, lined with colourful cushions, looked inviting, but the stillness in the air made it anything but. The photo wall, filled with moments frozen in time, seemed almost out of place as if the smiles in the frames had never fully reached the room itself.

They were engrossed in their own activities. Jay reclined on the sofa, his laptop perched on his lap as he worked. Sean was sitting on the cushion on the floor, leaning against it and mindlessly watching a crime documentary.

It was a rare occasion that they were both at home, yet even in the same room, a distance lingered between them. Recently, Jay had been staying late at work, often returning just as Sean was heading to bed. Sean couldn't help but notice that this was Jay's response to his repetitive questions about his mother and childhood. The more he pressed, the farther Jay seemed to pull away.

But despite knowing he was pushing Jay's boundaries, Sean couldn't shake the feeling that this was the only way forward. The thread that might unravel the distance between them and help him truly understand Jay and maybe, just maybe, bridge the gap that had grown between them.

"What are you usually doing around Christmas?" Sean asked, wondering about his plans as it was around the corner.

There was a subtle flicker of tension in Jay's expression even before he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the laptop. "Hm?" he responded as if lost in his thoughts.

Sean tilted his head back and repeated the question despite being sure Jay had heard him the first time.

"Nothing," Jay replied, at last, his voice distant and strained. "Mostly, working."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Sean muttered softly, then continued casually. "Do you have dinner with your mother or anything like that?"

Jay shook his head expressionlessly as though the question didn't warrant any real consideration. "No."

His indifference sent an unexpected chill through Sean. It was a reaction so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it left him momentarily speechless. His lips parted to say something more, but Jay's attention had already returned to the screen, his fingers moving across the keys with a practised almost mechanical rhythm. Sean hesitated, unsure whether to push further. After a beat, he tried again, attempting a more casual tone.

"Do you want to do something, maybe?"

Jay's expression didn't shift. "I don't do Christmas."

"Well, neither do I, but we have five days off," he started, unbothered by another sharp dismissal. "What about going to Fort William and enjoying some peace and quiet? Or literally anywhere outdoors doesn't feel like a survival game... like really, where did all these people come from?

Jay paused for a moment before a faint smile tugged at his lips. Sean wasn't wrong. December in London was insufferable. "Sure."

Sean took it as a small win, hoping that in the place Jay felt most comfortable, he might finally be able to reach him. Watching him struggle hurt more than anything, and Sean wasn't sure how to deal with it anymore. He even considered asking Victor, but going behind Jay's back would cause more damage than his relentless questions ever could.

That night, Sean was unusually struggling to fall asleep, his gaze lingering on the empty space beside him. Moments like this drove home just how little he really knew about the person he had chosen to spend his life with, as though no matter what he did, the impenetrable wall between them would always remain. It felt lonely at times, making him wonder if Jay could ever truly be his.

The next morning, Sean woke to an empty bed, and his heart sank even further. This avoidance echoed the time when he crossed the line and nearly lost Jay. As a result, he reluctantly decided to give Jay space, trying to convince himself it was just a fleeting thing.

But in the following few days, the pattern continued. Jay was gone every morning, and when Sean went to bed, Jay was still not home. He didn't see him at all, barely exchanged a word, and it started to gnaw at him, this feeling that Jay was slowly vanishing from his life.

The absence felt heavier with each passing day. The lack of connection and the silence stretched like an endless distance Sean couldn't bridge.