Dusk has fallen over New York City, yet the paparazzi outside Anderson Parker's favourite vacation home show no signs of retreat. He lets down the blinds with weak hands, sick of the view. He takes two steps forward and pauses suddenly, a lone figure at the corner of the large sitting room.
The situation has been this way for a while now, fueled by the gossip that he and his best friend, Simeon Walton, are more than friends.
These people insult him to his face by invading his privacy. Yet, this is his only method of retaliation, by cowering, cooped up on this island.
He cannot fathom how they found him; nevertheless, there is no time to speculate as the only thing he can think about is his future, the empire that he has built from his sweat and tears.
What if he is also thinking about the man purportedly involved with him, how he is handling it.
But the latter is not as important as the former. He has a weird feeling that if he stays here one more day, everything he has built will crumble to dust. He needs to get out of here, go home, and draft more plans. Fuck New York City for doing this to him.
Without warning, the main doors ping and slide open. His eyeballs almost pop out of their sockets. Breathing stops.
Shit.
His eyes widen even more.
Shit!
These rabid dogs have finally invaded his privacy properly.
A millisecond is all it takes him to grab the nearest object, being a flower vase. Breathing resumes, slows down in anticipation and his body drops into a fighting stance and –
"Simeon?"
He straightens.
"Anderson?"
They look surprised to see each other but Simeon recovers first. The blond man tentatively crosses the threshold and the doors slide shut behind him.
"What are you doing?"
Anderson Clarke shakes his head, relieved yet, wary. "I should be asking that. What are you doing here?" He sets the vase down and turns back to him.
As he waits for an answer to his question, he can't help but check him out. Simeon's sweater clings deliciously to his skin, crowned by a V-neckline dipping to reveal slightly, pale skin. The material is of cashmere, deep and blue. His dress pants are black and tailored, emphasizing the slim line of legs. It reminds him that he is only in a flimsy black short.
"I did not see any security. Do you know what could happen if someone finds out that you are in here, alone and unguarded?"
Coward, Anderson thinks and raises his eyes to meet with icy-blue irises. Something dances in his belly. "No," he answers sardonically, "the house is fortified."
Simeon moves then, which brings to his notice, the black suitcase in hand.
"Is it? I got in without mishap."
"Because you have the passcode," Anderson says the obvious. Simeon tilts his head slightly, like he always does when his hair is in his face. One of his many habits that Anderson has registered that he can't drop, even now that the hair is neatly packed in a bun. It also brings to his notice the infinity tattoo peaking out from behind his left ear which is studded with three shiny earrings. Heat pools around his gut.
"How did you bypass the people outside?" Anderson enquires curiously, pushing aside the thoughts that arise at the mere sight of Simeon. Besides, Simeon's arrival had been unannounced, indicating that he is keeping a low profile. If Simeon is here to end things, then they share the same sentiment.
Simeon shrugs in response. Their eyes meet and hold, leaving Anderson to feel somewhat exposed.
Those frost eyes droop to his shirtless stature which makes him conscious of it and he forgets that he still has to clarify something.
"Let me make you a drink," he offers, stuttering slightly. The moment shatters, Simeon nods and Anderson escapes.
In the kitchen, he pours out a vodka mojito into a glass. Simeon likes it with a dash of tamarind syrup so he does not forget the little detail. For himself, he settles for a glass of cognac.
"Did you hear about the glitch in Atlantis?"
He startles, spins to see Simeon empty-handed. Where's the suitcase? Does it mean he's staying in? The dim lighting in the kitchen casts shadows on Simeon's face, accentuating his sharp jawline.
"Yes. I spoke with Gild." Michael Gild had called to thank him for connecting him to Simeon. He's sorely reminded of the goals he has to reach.
The blond man leans over the kitchen counter, his fingers tracing the edge of the quartz countertop as he gazed out at the stainless steel appliances and the subtle sheen of the hardwood floors. Subsequently, he leans dangerously closer to see the contents of the glasses on the countertop.
"Here." Anderson prefers to hand him the cocktail, their fingers brush, tingling in wake but he avoids eye contact. He notes the jet-black nail polish as it moves away. It was white the last time he saw it.
Dangerously still, he watches the cocktail go down Simeon's throat in one swift motion. He swallows hard at the bob of his Adam's apple, his breath catching as his gaze hooks on the trickle sliding from the commissure of his lips. His tongue licks out before he realizes and tears his gaze away. He is in trouble.
An unsatisfied sound leaves Simeon as he eyes the now empty glass. However, he does not ask for more and lowers it gently on the counter.
"Drink up," Simeon urges on seeing the cognac still in Anderson's hands.
His hands move instinctively, obeying before he can think. He drinks with small and measured sips before he breaks the silence.
"It's not safe for you to be here."
Simeon raises a brow at that. Anderson can hear a possible sarcastic reply to that question though his lips do not form the words. Instead, he is transfixed by Simeon's fox eyes framed by long lashes, his button nose, the lips set in a permanent pout, the long shiny numerous earrings decorating his ear, the jawline sharpening it, and all he can think about is how this man is so handsome and beautiful at the same time.
"I need some shares from you to complete my collection." It's not a plea, because he will have it. They're all gunning for the award of the decade and Anderson does not have any more shares to surrender but he must do something for Simeon. That's just the way they are.
"Is it what you came for?" Anderson feels a pang of disappointment. But he shouldn't be. Not for what he is planning to do.
"An arrangement in your office or mine should be ideal."
Anderson ignores the bite of sarcasm. "I am sorry."
"You say it too much." Contrary to his expectations, Simeon's expression darkens and he takes two steps back. Anderson hates to see those pouty lips curve even more downwards. Wants to kiss it away. He really is in big trouble.
A soft sigh leaves him, blows the wild ideas away. It's not helping matters.
"Why did you not pick my calls?"
"What?"
"WHY DID YOU IGNORE MY CALLS?"
Anderson's hand tighten over the glass. "I-" How can he phrase that he just wanted to be left alone, not wanting to face the fact that he was supposed to end this thing going on between them or that he was scared that Simeon would be the first to get off the seesaw?
"I was worried, killing myself over the various possibilities of how well you were holding it up and now, I am here and the only thing you can think of, is to ask me what I am doing here."
"Why bother?" Anderson drops the question, afraid of what the answer will be and avoids Simeon's icy stare. Anderson cannot understand why Simeon sought him out admist this crisis. Even the probability of the paparazzi spotting him didn't deter him. Foolhardy of him. "The rumours are not true."
"What are you saying?" Simeon grits out.
"We are not in a relationship." His voice sounds foreign to him. He's faintly aware of his back pressing into the cold tiled counter but it is the purchase that he needs.
However, to be frank and for the record, they are not in a relationship. Not once did either of them dare to put a name to whatever it is that keeps pulling them together.
Lips trembling, Simeon looks like he's about to rage. His dark orbs peer at him, like it is searching for something. Whatever it finds, presses his lips into a bitter line. "This is what you're doing now, huh…"
Anderson prepares for the worst. But Simeon then exhales a strangled gasp and bends over the counter, clinging onto it like it's his lifeline.
First instinct is to drop the glass, and near him in concern. "Are you okay?" Anderson asks, smoothing a hand over his neck.
Simeon visibly recoils from the touch and backs away. This leaves Anderson with a strange feeling.
"Don't you dare," he warns, voice low and menacing. "You must think of me as a fool," he says, turning away.
Not at all, he's the fool turning down what Simeon seems to be giving him. He tries to collect himself but his trembling hands makes his teeth grit in frustration.
"What are we?"
"What are what?"
"What are we?" Simeon words, punctuating each syllable.
"Best friends..." Anderson trails off.
"No," Simeon says hastily, "what we do, platonic best friends do not."
Anderson doesn't get to express himself before a realization hits him. Can Simeon not see that he's doing this for their own good?
"Let us end this," he says abruptly.
It shocks Simeon's mouth open, a curse follows and he turns on his heel, walking away.
"Where are you going?" Anderson questions but Simeon does not respond or slow down. He is not ready for him to leave yet.
"Simeon." Saying his name hurts him for an unknown reason. He catches up to him and grabs him by the arm. His face burns as the warmth at the contact seeps into him.
"Let go," Simeon says coolly.
Choosing to ignore the statement, he tightens his grip. He's so warm. "Where are you going?" They stand, height for height with a miscellaneous one inch that he had over Simeon.
"Home. You do not want me here." Simeon's eyes are on everything but him.
Simeon is mistaken. Anderson wants him in so many ways but this sacrifice is for their sake.
"I did not say that."
"I have eyes," it is an angry retort from Simeon.
"I am sorry."
"Ugh!" The man growls with ferocity and Anderson is pushed away with a strength that he does not expect.
"Stop using those words when you do not know when to say it." Simeon almost growls and a pathetic part of Anderson finds that somewhat attractive. But then, Simeon resumes his retreat.
Wait, what is that supposed to mean? He sees the black suitcase on the table and Simeon heading towards it. He has to stop him.
"Please," he begs, swallowing his pride. It is just loud enough to be heard. It works. Simeon slows and he goes to him once more. "You don't have to leave so quickly. It is dark outside. You should eat something at least." Rationalization or stalling.
"Only because you asked nicely," Simeon bites out. He's too easy or Anderson just happens to know his cheat code.
Simeon sulks in the sitting room while Anderson makes dinner. But, only because he had said please.
They eat in silence, picking at their food. Anderson is wearing a shirt now and Simeon is looking everywhere but him.
He puts a spoon of rice into his mouth and uses the opportunity to steal a glance at the man across him. This might be his last opportunity to get a good look at him.
"What did you do this morning?" Anderson asks mindlessly. Seconds of silence beat in the room, and just as resignation begins to settle inside Anderson, Simeon says something that he does not catch.
"Hmm?"
"I danced," Simeon snaps because he regrets opening his mouth and having to say it twice.
"Oh." Who is the coward now? While Simeon was out living his life, he is on this island being a coward.
"People must have hounded you."
"Give it time. It will blow over," Simeon tells him like it's nothing.
"What if it does not?" What if people begin to boycott him? The business mogul award will slip from his fingers if he is not careful. It has been many years since he has landed his jackpot, since he has been preparing for this big moment, yet he had allowed flimsy pleasures to come before it. The blame is his alone.
Simeon softens, like he had heard Anderson's unsaid words. He has the same fears but with Anderson like this, he should not be showing his.
No, no. Simeon shakes his head. He shouldn't be forgetting so quickly. Anderson had consigned what they shared to a place of insignificance. To make it worse, he must have meant it. "You started this and you wish to end it."
Foolishly, Anderson thinks. It had been a foolish thing to do then, succumbing to the satin caress of temptation and to his surprise, Simeon had not turned away. Not once. "Are you not interested in the award anymore."
"I am, more than you can imagine."
He cannot. Simeon Walton was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, grew up in the perfect family and soon became the America's favorite. "And if people find out the truth-"
"Then, they should not be surprised. Why are you so obsessed with what people will think?"
"Because we have so much to lose," Anderson stands. Can Simeon not see? He starts to pace. "Everything to lose, especially you," he stops to look at Simeon who is watching him with an unreadable look in his eyes.
"I didn't ask you to play the looking out for me, Anderson. Worry about yourself. You're surrounded by these crazy people outside and yet, you remain here. What are you so scared of?"
Simeon's expression is too cool for his words. Too cool on that face that he couldn't escape from, that chased him even in dreams. They shouldn't be arguing this.
What is he so scared of? Regardless of all the racing thoughts in his head, he cannot pin down one exactly.
"Whatever you think," Simeon carries on, "you start and end? No. You are being unfair. Don't you think? This time, it's my turn to end it my own way."
His heart might have stopped but alright, Anderson Clarke can do fair. But why is there a wide hole in his chest, a gap in his feelings? None of this feels right. He watches Simeon like a hawk.
How long has it been since Anderson had Simeon this near? Two weeks and fifteen hours, he had kept count. And he had no reason why.
They had already been worlds apart when hell broke loose. Someone had tapped their logs at a jewellery store where they had bought matching necklaces. He had watched it on his phone. His manager had played it on TV and he had watched. Wide-eyed as Simeon put the necklace on him and clasped it and the look - the one they had shared afterwards had been too intense to be called platonic. Anderson did not know that he was capable of looking like that which scared him of how far he must have fallen. He had no explanations, none that could fit the blatant description before he had confessed the truth. A secret now between them and his promise of ending things as soon as possible. Thee Business Mogul award is reserved for the cleanest of reputation, the country's votes and the most deserving. With the soar in the queer-phobia after its legalization in America, it would be entirely stupid of him to actively engage in jeopardizing his prospects.
"Fine, you end it." With the fulminating look Simeon throws him, he wonders what he is up to.
With the words they say, everything feels like a game.
It comes as destabilizing shock to find out that Simeon is gone before Anderson wakes up the following day.
There's no note on the table, no nothing that indicates that there is a sign of life in the guest room where Simeon had retired for the night. A gut feeling tells Anderson that Simeon did not touch anything.
He dials his number, calling him for the first time since the ruckus. Simeon answers. The second wasted in tamping the unexpected surge of adrenaline is too late as the line cuts almost immediately.
First, he needs to find Simeon's hideout.