Page 129 of Under Construction

They stand in suffocating silence as the elevator descends. At the fifth floor, Dennis breaks:

"He's right, you know?"

"Don't."

Dennis inhales sharply and hits the emergency stop, turning to face Chris. "Trust me, I hate to agree with my dad, way more than you do, but he's right. The project is crumbling down, I don't know why or how to stop it, and you—you're either MIA or bringing donuts or just—different."

"And what do you want me to say? That I'm sorry?"

"Iwantyou to explain."

Chris spins around, gripping the handrail, head hanging between his shoulders.

"Stop avoiding me, Chris." Dennis steps closer, hand finding Chris's shoulder. "Please."

"Drop it, Dennis! Alright?"

Dennis recoils, eyes wide.

This isn't his Chris—he's never seen this side, never imagined it existed. But pride rises to meet anger.

"Fine." He releases the emergency stop.

"Denny—" Chris sighs, fingers brushing Dennis’s hand. Dennis pulls away, arms crossing.

"Sorry..."

"Save it."

The drive back is stone silent.

Dennis’s thoughts spiral as he works. What was that meeting really about? His father never deals directly with site managers—that's what project managers are for. Yet he'd called them in together, interrogated Chris despite knowing the incidents were beyond their control. Chris had even fixed the last round of permit issues when it was far outside his job scope.

None of it adds up. His father's barking up the wrong tree—but his father's too calculating for random mistakes. Every one of his moves has a purpose.

Dennis’s fury mingles with confusion, a lump forming in his throat. He wants to fight his father over this, remind him who's actually leading the project. But his father's smart—too smart for this to be a simple misunderstanding.

The questions pile up. And now this rift with Chris—Chris who's always been his rock. His go-to guy. Hishome.

Is this how it ends? Whatever "this" is between them?

The thought of losing it makes him physically ill.

Dennis finds Chris in the site office later, bent over blueprints like nothing happened. His shoulders stay rigid while his phone lights up repeatedly. Each message gets dismissed with increasing agitation.

"Want to talk about it?" Dennis tries, because beneath his own hurt, he needs to understand what's eating at Chris.

"Nothing to talk about." Chris doesn't look up. "Your father made himself clear."

"Hey." Dennis reaches for him, but Chris shifts away again. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on." Chris finally meets his eyes, something unreadable flickering across his face before disappearing. "I—I'm sorry about before, Dennis, really."

Not princess, not baby, just Dennis.

Chris exhales hard, fingers raking through his hair. "Just need to focus on work."

That night, they barely make it past the front door.

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