A Heart Of Turmoil

The night was unusually quiet in the mansion, the ticking of the clock the only sound in Victor's room. He sat on the edge of his bed, his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up, staring blankly at his laptop screen. But work didn't seem to hold his attention anymore. His thoughts were elsewhere—circling back to Milo, the man who had, unknowingly, upended his world.

Victor sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. The image of Milo laughing with that man on the street kept replaying in his mind, an unshakable loop of emotions he couldn't name. Anger? Jealousy? Frustration? Or something far more unsettling? He couldn't tell.

A knock on his door startled him out of his reverie. "Come in," he called, trying to steady his voice.

The door creaked open, revealing Mr. Henry. Dressed in his night robe, the older man stepped inside with a gentle smile. "Victor, you've been quiet lately. Everything okay, son?"

Victor hesitated, his lips parting but no words escaping. His father's presence, though comforting, only added to the weight on his chest. Finally, he gestured for him to sit on the armchair nearby.

Mr. Henry walked in, taking his place across from Victor. "I've noticed something's been bothering you. It's written all over your face. Want to talk about it?"

Victor lowered his head, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly. For a long moment, the only sound was his shallow breathing. Then, as though the dam of emotions had finally cracked, the words came tumbling out.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been feeling... off. Unwell, maybe. And it's because of Milo."

Mr. Henry's eyebrows raised slightly, but he remained quiet, allowing Victor to continue.

Victor exhaled sharply, his hands raking through his hair. "Ever since he started distancing himself, I've felt... heavy. Like there's this weight I can't shake off. And then he left, without telling me anything. No text, no call, nothing. I didn't even know he was back until I saw him on the street yesterday."

He paused, the image of Milo with that man flashing in his mind. His voice dropped lower, laced with a tinge of bitterness. "He was with someone else. Laughing, close, like they've known each other forever. And I... I don't know why, but it made me uneasy. Angry, even."

Mr. Henry watched his son intently, the corners of his lips lifting into a knowing smile. "And you don't know why you're feeling this way?"

Victor shook his head, his hands dropping to his lap. "No, I don't. I just know that it's eating at me. Every time I think about him, my chest feels... tight. And it doesn't stop."

The older man leaned forward, resting a hand on Victor's back. "Victor," he said gently, "it sounds to me like your heart is choosing someone."

Victor frowned, his head snapping up to meet his father's gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You're falling for Milo," Mr. Henry stated simply, his voice calm but firm. "Even if you haven't realized it yet, your heart has. And that's why it's reacting this way—because it doesn't want to lose him."

Victor blinked, the words sinking into his mind like stones in water. "I..." He faltered, his thoughts a tangled mess. Could it really be that simple? That all this turmoil was because... he cared about Milo more than he realized?

Seeing his son's confusion, Mr. Henry patted his back. "It's okay to feel this way, Victor. Emotions are messy, but they're also what make us human. Don't push them away—try to understand them. And when you're ready, talk to Milo about it."

Victor nodded faintly, his gaze dropping to the floor again. The conversation left him calmer, though his mind was still a whirlwind. Mr. Henry stood, offering a reassuring smile. "Get some rest, son. Things will make more sense in time."

As his father left the room, closing the door softly behind him, Victor sat back on the bed, his thoughts racing. He couldn't deny the strange sense of comfort his father's words had brought, but they also left him with more questions than answers.

Leaning back against the headboard, Victor stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying every moment he'd spent with Milo. The laughter, the casual touches, the arguments, and the silence. And for the first time, he allowed himself to entertain the possibility: What if I do care for him? More than I should?

The night stretched on, and sleep remained elusive. But amidst the chaos in his mind, one thing became clear: he needed to understand his feelings, and he needed to see Milo. Soon.