Distance

The days in the office grew heavier, the air tense yet unspoken. Victor buried himself in his work, spending endless hours in meetings, poring over documents, and hammering out strategies. But his mind, no matter how much he tried, kept drifting to Milo.

He avoided the path that led to Milo's studio, choosing alternate routes through the building whenever necessary. Even the thought of crossing paths with him was enough to make Victor clench his jaw. Yet, a pang of longing lingered every time he passed the closed door of the studio.

Milo doesn't want to see me, he thought bitterly. Why should I seek him out?

On the other side, Milo was equally withdrawn. The studio had become his haven, the only place where he could lose himself in colors and canvases. But even there, his hands faltered. The paintbrush would hover over the canvas as his thoughts veered toward Victor. He caught himself replaying every interaction they'd ever had, from the warmth of Victor's smile to the way his voice softened when they were alone.

But Milo kept telling himself it was for the best. Distance is safer, he thought. For both of us.

The Office's Routine

Victor's staff noticed the change in him. He was sharper, more curt than usual. While he remained professional, his temper flared more often, and his focus wavered during meetings.

"Is everything alright, sir?" his assistant asked tentatively one day, as Victor absentmindedly signed the wrong document.

Victor blinked, realizing his mistake. "Fine," he muttered, correcting it. "Just tired."

In truth, the tiredness came not from work but from the gnawing ache of unresolved emotions. He hated how Milo's absence consumed his thoughts.

Milo's Solitude

Meanwhile, Milo stayed hidden in his studio, arriving early and leaving late to avoid running into Victor. He painted, cleaned, and even reorganized his supplies to keep himself busy. But no matter how much he tried, Victor's face lingered in his mind, haunting him like a ghost.

One evening, after a long day of avoiding Victor's shadow, Milo sat at his desk, staring at a half-finished painting. The colors felt dull, lifeless, and no amount of adjustment seemed right.

"Why can't I get this right?" he muttered, his frustration boiling over.

He knew why. The emotions he was holding back were spilling into his work, and without addressing them, he couldn't create freely.

The Avoidance Continues

Days turned into weeks. Neither Milo nor Victor made an effort to bridge the growing chasm between them. Their avoidance was almost comical to the staff, who whispered about the tension but dared not comment aloud.

"Do you think they're fighting?" one whispered near the coffee machine.

"Probably," another replied. "But it's none of our business."

Even Mr. Henry, ever perceptive, noticed the change. One afternoon, he caught Victor in the hallway.

"You've been avoiding Milo's studio," he said casually.

Victor froze, his father's words striking a nerve. "I've been busy."

Mr. Henry didn't press further, though his knowing smile lingered.

Unspoken Longing

Late one evening, as the office emptied, Victor stood by the window of his office, staring at the city lights. He swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid reflecting the glow of the streetlights.

He didn't know why he was so stubborn about keeping his distance. Part of him wanted to march into Milo's studio and demand answers. Another part of him feared what those answers might be.

Across the building, Milo sat on the floor of his studio, leaning against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest. The studio was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning.

He missed Victor.

Every moment they'd spent together played in his mind like an endless reel. He wanted to walk down the hallway, knock on Victor's office door, and see him again. But the thought of Victor's rejection, of the impossibility of their feelings, held him back.

The Silent Standoff

The silence between them stretched, heavy and unyielding. Neither of them realized how much the distance was eating away at them, their pride and fear locking them in a standoff.

But the longer it lasted, the more it became clear: this silence couldn't go on forever. Something had to break. And when it did, neither of them would be prepared for the storm it would bring.