Episode 5: The Gravity of a Gaze

The gold-plated clock in the lobby of RBM headquarters ticked with a rhythmic precision that mirrored the heartbeat of the company: cold, efficient, and relentless. For Lorenz, however, the rhythm of his second week was anything but steady. He felt as though he were walking on high-tension wires, balanced between the intoxicating joy of his new career and the heavy, inexplicable pressure of the man who occupied the top floor.

The Garden of Happiness

Lorenz stood at his designated workstation on the third floor—the "Creative Garden," as the designers called it. It was a sprawling open-plan space filled with rolls of Italian silk, jars of imported dye, and the constant hum of high-end sewing machines.

"Lorenz! Wake up! You’re daydreaming over the organza again," Misha teased, sliding her chair over. She looked at him with her characteristic "bold and intelligent" sparkle. "You’ve been staring at that white fabric for ten minutes. Are you designing a wedding dress or a shroud?"

Lorenz snapped out of his trance, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. "Neither, Misha. I was just... thinking about the textures. Mr. Wilson said the $10 million project needs something 'unseen.' I want to find a way to make the light catch the weave so it looks like it’s glowing from within."

Misha’s expression softened. "You’re too pure for this industry, Loren. But be careful. When you aim for the light, you sometimes catch the eye of those who live in the dark."

She nodded subtly toward the glass-walled mezzanine that overlooked the design floor. Lorenz followed her gaze, and his breath hitched. There, leaning against the railing with his "fine shoulders" casting a long shadow, was Mr. Wilson. He wasn't looking at the sketches. He wasn't looking at the senior designers. His "cold, arrogant" eyes were fixed directly on Lorenz.

The Predator’s Watch

Up on the mezzanine, Mr. Wilson felt a tightening in his chest—a sensation he had dubbed his "chronic disease" of loneliness. For five years, he had been a ghost in a suit, a man who built an empire to insulate himself from the pain of his mother’s sudden passing. He had mastered the art of being "rude and arrogant" because it kept people at a distance.

But this boy... this fresher with the "jolly nature" and the "adorable" face was a glitch in his programming.

"Sir?" Mr. Charles whispered, standing a respectful three paces behind him. "The quarterly reports are ready for your review. And the board is asking for a decision on the textile suppliers."

Wilson didn't turn. "Charles, why is that boy wearing a yellow ribbon on his wrist today?"

Mr. Charles blinked, adjusting his glasses. "I... I believe it’s a good luck charm, sir. Mr. Lorenz mentioned he was nervous about the first sample review."

"Nervous," Wilson repeated, the word tasting like copper on his tongue. "He spreads happiness to everyone in this 'garden,' yet he is the one who is nervous? It’s illogical."

Wilson’s fingers gripped the cold steel railing. He wanted to descend the stairs. He wanted to walk into that "Creative Garden," scatter the other designers like leaves, and ask Lorenz why his smile seemed slightly dimmed today. But he couldn't. He was the King of RBM, and kings did not mingle with the flowers.

The Encounter in the Archives

By late afternoon, the office had descended into a frantic rush. Lorenz was tasked with retrieving a vintage swatch book from the deep archives—a windowless, climate-controlled room in the basement where the history of RBM was kept in silent, light-tight boxes.

The air in the archives was thin and smelled of cedar and old paper. Lorenz hummed a soft tune to keep the silence at bay, his fingers tracing the spines of leather-bound portfolios.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sound of heavy, expensive dress shoes on the polished concrete floor made Lorenz freeze. He turned, his heart jumping into his throat. Mr. Wilson was standing at the end of the aisle, the dim motion-sensor lights flickering on above his head, illuminating his sharp, handsome features.

"Mr. Lorenz," Wilson said. His voice was deep, a low vibration that seemed to hum in the very air. "Lost in the past already?"

"Mr. Wilson!" Lorenz bowed quickly, nearly dropping the swatch book. "No, sir! I was just... I was looking for the 1994 velvet collection. For the project."

Wilson walked forward. He didn't stop until he was standing well within Lorenz’s personal space. The "scary" CEO towered over him, the scent of his sandalwood and rain-water cologne filling the narrow aisle.

"The 1994 collection is three aisles over," Wilson said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. He reached out, his hand passing inches from Lorenz’s ear as he leaned against the shelf behind the boy. "You’re inefficient."

Lorenz felt the heat radiating from Wilson’s body. He looked up, his eyes wide and "joyful" even in his fear. "I’m sorry, sir. I’m still learning. I’ll be faster next time."

Wilson didn't move. He looked down at Lorenz’s lips, then back up to his eyes. The "longing" in Wilson’s heart was so loud he was sure Lorenz could hear it. He wanted to reach out and touch the yellow ribbon on Lorenz’s wrist. He wanted to ask if the boy’s skin was as soft as the silk he handled all day.

"Why do you do it?" Wilson asked suddenly, his "cold face" cracking just a fraction.

"Do what, sir?"

"Smile. Even when you’re down here in the dark, alone. Even when your boss is being 'rude' to you. Why do you look like the sun is about to rise?"

Lorenz hesitated, then gave a small, shy smile that made Wilson’s pulse spike. "Because I’m happy to be here, Mr. Wilson. I’m happy to be part of your world. Even if it’s just in the basement."

Wilson’s jaw tightened. He pulled his hand back, retreating into his "arrogant" shell. "Get the samples and get out. I don't pay you to be a philosopher."

As Wilson turned to leave, Lorenz whispered, "Are you okay, sir?"

Wilson stopped mid-stride. No one had asked him that in five years. Not even Mr. Charles. He didn't answer. He simply walked out of the archives, his heart feeling like a heavy stone in his chest.

The Longing from the Villa

Hours later, the sun had long since set over J Town. Wilson sat in the grand, empty library of his "scary" villa. A single glass of amber liquid sat untouched on the side table. He was surrounded by the finest things money could buy—rare art, antique furniture, silk tapestries—but the house felt like a tomb.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the employee database. He scrolled until he found Lorenz’s file.

Name: Lorenz.

Age: 20.

Personality: Joyful, Adorable, Technical.

Wilson traced the digital photo of Lorenz with his thumb. "A chronic disease," he whispered to the empty room. "That’s what love is. A disease that starts with a look and ends with a fever."

He thought about the way Lorenz had looked in the dim light of the archives—vulnerable, yet glowing. He thought about the yellow ribbon. He realized, with a start, that he was jealous. He was jealous of a piece of ribbon because it got to touch Lorenz’s skin all day.

The Morning After

The next morning, the office was buzzing with news. A mysterious gift had been left on the "Creative Garden" desks. Not just any gift—a professional-grade, gold-plated set of fabric shears was sitting on Lorenz’s workstation. There was no note, only the RBM crest engraved on the blade.

Misha whistled. "Those are worth more than my car, Loren. Who’s the secret admirer now?"

Lorenz picked up the shears, feeling the weight of the metal. He looked up toward the mezzanine. Mr. Wilson wasn't there. But through the glass of the executive office, he saw a silhouette standing by the window, looking out over the city.

Lorenz held the shears to his chest. He didn't know why the "scary" CEO was looking at him, or why the "rude" man was suddenly filling his life with secret kindness. All he knew was that the "atmosphere" of RBM had changed. It was no longer just a job. It was a gravitational pull.

And as Lorenz began to cut the crimson silk for the $10 million project, he felt a strange, beautiful ache in his own heart. The longing had begun.

Episode 5 ends with Lorenz realizing that the "scary" CEO might be the loneliest man in the world, while Wilson realizes that his "chronic disease" is no longer something he wants to cure—he wants to succumb to it.

Sorry readers!

I was quite going through the downfall of my life. Now I'm back with full enthusiasm.

I really want to continue with my writing. Kindly show your support in comments. ❤️

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***