Ivanov: I know this. We told her so together.
Jonah: So…
Ivanov: So what? Do you want me to come, Jonah Gray?
Jonah: I want to know what you’ll be doing if you don’t.
Ivanov: Why?
Jonah: I don’t know.
Sacha didn’t reply straight away. Head spinning, Jonah dropped his phone into a drawer and ducked out of his office, gaze roaming as always, searching for Sacha.
And as almost always, he was nowhere in sight. But he was definitely close. Jonah could feel it.
Fool. You can feel no such thing.
Jonah filled his coffee mug and helped himself to a Christmas-spiced flapjack from the box that had appeared that morning—an actual, tangible clue that Sacha was in the building.
He took it back to his office and opened the drawer he’d dumped his phone in. A message lit up the screen, too long for the preview to make sense.
Jonah swiped it open.
Ivanov: If I am not with you I will be where I always am, at home.
Jonah: Alone?
Ivanov: Yes.
Jonah: Why?
Ivanov: Because that is how I live.
Jonah: But it’s Christmas
Ivanov: I am aware. It is the same day every year, no?
Jonah: You shouldn’t be alone.
Ivanov: It does not mean to me what it does to you.
Jonah: I don’t believe you. You like my tree. You stare at it all the time. I saw you.
Ivanov: Yes, it was your Christmas tree I was staring at all weekend.
Jonah: Are you being sarcastic?
Ivanov: Maybe.
Jonah couldn’t think of a reply that didn’t involve pushing Sacha to do something he clearly didn’t want to do, but he wasn’t buying his insistence that Sacha didn’t care. He was too entranced by the sparkly view from Jonah’s building for it to mean nothing.
Right?
In truth, Jonah had no idea, and he was no closer to figuring it out by the time the end of a very long day came around.
He was the last FG employee to leave. Blutecc were still working and didn’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon. Out of habit, Jonah searched the sea of hunched shoulders and frowns for Sacha, and for once his gaze landed on the face he so wanted to see.
Sacha was bent over a desk, frowning deeply, tapping on a keyboard while he spoke on the phone. He had a pencil behind his ear and a collection of empty mugs around him.
Coffee mugs.
Doubling back, Jonah returned to the break room and cleared away the detritus of the day. He washed mugs in the sink and stacked them ready for their next outing, and loaded the coffee machine to its full capacity.
He set it to brew, then perched on the arm of a couch and pulled up his trusty food delivery app on his phone. FG had an account at the nearest wood-fired pizza place. He ordered a ridiculous amount to cover the Blutecc staff still working, and added a couple more for Samson and Curtis.
It was a small gesture, but as the man going home with the luxury of not checking his emails until the following morning, it was least he could do.
With a final glance at Sacha, he left, letting Samson know on his way out to expect a van load of pizzas.
The night was damp and cold. He took a cab home and hurried inside when he reached his building, stopping only to gaze out of the landing window that had held little appeal until he’d met Sacha.
Concealed by mist, the lights were harder to see tonight. Jonah strained his eyes and imagined he could see the building where Sacha was, picturing the frown he’d still sported when Jonah had left. They’d shared the same work space for barely a month, but somehow leaving him there felt all wrong. As if Jonah’s soft heart believed he’d have been any use to Sacha if he’d stayed.
Idiot. You forgot to replace your IT manager. What use would you be to a development team?
None, obviously. It was a stupid thought that made no sense. Jonah knew it like he knew it was cold in his fancy apartment without Sacha to keep him company. That despite living happily alone for years, somehow he was lonely.
Call Lily.
He didn’t. He took a shower and made a sandwich for dinner, eating it on the couch in front of a Netflix original about lawyers and murder trials. Eleanor sent her daily message, asking—again—about Sacha and Christmas. Jonah let out a strangled laugh and flopped back on the couch, a weight settling over his chest. Lesson learnt. Don’t tell lies. Sacha seemed to find the whole thing amusing, but for Jonah, any humour in the situation had long ago faded, leaving behind a stark dose of reality—he had an accidental fake boyfriend he needed to set free.
But the trouble was, he didn’t want to set Sacha free. He wanted to keep him, for Christmas, and beyond.
Oops.
The realisation, though not entirely new, sank Jonah deeper into the couch. It was all very well deciding he wanted to have Sacha for himself, but what about Sacha? What did he want?
Aside from mind-blowing sex, Jonah had no clue.
So ask him.
But he didn’t do that either. He drowsed on the couch until his phone buzzed a little while later.
Ivanov: perhaps you are the angel, Jonah Gray.
In the darkness, Jonah smiled. The weight lifted a little, and he went to bed, leaving his reply unsent.
Only for you, Sacha. Only for you.
Sacha sat on his bathroom floor, coding with one hand and rubbing his temple with the other, willing the migraine-induced nausea he’d staggered home with to fade. It was the third day in a row he’d forgotten to bring his refilled prescription to the office to tuck in a drawer, and the third day he’d paid the ultimate price.
Don’t puke. You know how this works. Keep the pills down.
Easier said than done, though he’d managed it the last two days, perhaps helped by the fact he hadn’t had time to eat much since Jonah had ordered a lifetime supply of pizza to be delivered to the office. Good pizza, with no olives.
How did he know?
Sacha knew the answer to that. Jonah Gray was observant. Empathetic. Kind. And he didn’t discriminate either, not like Sacha who picked and chose who to share his finite affection with.
Sacha stared at the stack of pizza boxes on the table. There were too many to count. “Take some for yourselves,” he told Samson and the janitor who’d staggered into the office with them.
“No need,” Samson replied cheerfully. “Mr. Gray always takes care of us.”
Always. Of course he did. Even the two nights they’d slept side by side, Jonah had regularly flailed a hand out in his sleep, resting it on Sacha’s chest a moment, as if checking his cynical heart was still beating.
Sacha smiled at the memory, the pills in his belly finally softening the sharp pain in his temple. He hadn’t noticed Jonah leaving the office the night of the pizza delivery, and the disappointment at knowing he’d missed him had been…disarming until Samson had arrived laden with boxes. A silly thing, really. A simple goodbye would’ve been more tangible, even snatched and stilted in front of an audience.
Nothing about how Jonah made Sacha feel was simple.
I like him.
But then, who didn’t? Sacha didn’t partake in office gossip, but he listened, and he’d heard enough to discern that Jonah’s FG employees adored him. That he was the sweetest, kindest boss he could be while running a fledgling advertising agency.
Sacha? He could clear a room with his glare and he liked it that way, but he couldn’t deny the spell Jonah had put on him too. Or how long the last three days had been without him, which made no sense at all considering he’d spent an entire lifetime without Jonah’s company, and only a handful of occasions with it.