Page 20 of The Authenticity Clause
“A codependent relationship with a high maintenance, gas-guzzling liability,” Julian corrected, his voice laced with dry humor.
“Exactly!” Leo grinned. “The best kind.”
The conversation flowed easily after that, a tentative, playful back-and-forth that felt miles away from their stilted office interactions. They weren't a boss and his fraudulent employee. They were just two men, talking in a quiet car on a rainy night. And with every shared laugh, every easy exchange, the attraction Leo had been trying to suppress grew sharper, more insistent. It was in the way Julian’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he almost smiled, in the low timber of his voice, in the simple, overwhelming fact of his presence beside him.
The guilt followed right behind, a cold shadow chasing the warmth.He’s laughing with a fraud. He’s opening up to a character I invented.The duality was nauseating, a dizzying spiral of want and shame.
“Turn left up here,” Leo said as they approached his street.
Julian navigated the turn smoothly, the car gliding to a stop in front of Leo’s building. It was an old, charming brick walk-up, with a slightly crooked wrought-iron fence and windowboxes overflowing with defiant, rain-battered flowers. It was the architectural equivalent of Leo himself: a little messy, full of character, and fundamentally different from the sleek, modern world Julian inhabited.
“This is it,” Leo said, his hand hovering over the door handle. The bubble was about to pop.
“It has character,” Julian observed, his gaze taking in the building. It wasn’t a compliment laced with judgment, just a simple statement of fact.
“It has drafts and questionable plumbing,” Leo countered with a smile. “Same thing, basically.” He finally opened the door, the cool, damp air rushing in, breaking the warm spell of the car. “Well, thanks for the ride. You saved me from becoming a human sponge.”
“It was no trouble,” Julian said.
Leo got out and shut the door with a soft click. He expected Julian to just drive away. It would have been the normal, efficient thing to do. But the car remained, its headlights cutting cones of light through the misty air. Julian got out.
Leo’s heart did a frantic little stutter-step. “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
“The sidewalk is uneven,” Julian stated simply, falling into step beside him as they walked up the short, cracked pathway. It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. He just wasn’t ready for the night to end. The realization hit Leo with the force of a physical blow.
At the front door of the building, Leo fumbled for his keys, his fingers suddenly clumsy. The air between them was thick with unspoken things, charged with the energy of the storm now concentrated into the small space of the entryway. He could feelthe warmth radiating from Julian’s body, could smell that faint, clean scent of citrus and rain.
He finally found the right key and unlocked the heavy wooden door. As he pushed it open, the light from the hallway spilled out, illuminating them both and offering a direct, unfiltered view into the glorious, vibrant chaos of his apartment.
The first thing anyone saw upon entering was a massive, half-finished canvas on an easel, a swirling vortex of deep blues and purples that was clearly another piece from his “Hidden Worlds” series. Beyond it, the walls were a collage of sketches, bookshelves overflowed with art books and novels, and a collection of mismatched, colorful mugs sat on the kitchen counter. It was the opposite of Julian’s minimalist office. It was a space that was lived in, loved, and unapologetically, authentically Leo.
He felt a sudden, sharp pang of insecurity, seeing his private sanctuary through Julian’s eyes. He braced himself for a flicker of distaste, of judgment.
But when he looked at Julian, he saw none of that. Julian’s gaze was fixed on the canvas, his expression one of quiet, intense recognition.
“It’s another one,” Julian said, his voice soft. He looked from the painting to Leo, and his eyes held the same captivated interest they’d had in the office kitchen. He wasn’t repulsed. He was intrigued. He was seeing the real Leo, the artist, and he wasn’t turning away.
“Yeah,” Leo managed, his throat tight. “Work in progress.”
“It’s beautiful,” Julian said, and the simple, earnest compliment landed directly in Leo’s soul.
The moment stretched, thick with a tension that was no longer just emotional, but intensely physical. They were standing so close in the narrow doorway. Leo could see the flecks of silver in Julian’s gray eyes, could see the slight parting of his lips as if he were about to say something else. The desire to close the small distance between them was a physical ache, a magnetic pull that was almost impossible to resist.
He saw Julian’s hand lift slightly, his fingers twitching, as if he wanted to reach out, to touch Leo’s arm, to maybe… to what? The air crackled. Leo’s breath hitched in his chest. It felt like the whole world had gone silent, holding its breath with him.
The moment was a perfect, fragile, crystalline thing.
And then, a door slammed shut on an upper floor, the sound echoing down the stairwell, shattering the spell.
Julian blinked, pulling back almost imperceptibly, his hand dropping to his side. The connection broke. They were just a boss and an employee again, standing at a doorway.
“I should go,” Julian said, his voice a little rougher than before.
“Right,” Leo said, his own voice sounding distant.
“Goodnight, Leo.” He used his first name. It felt significant.
“Goodnight, Julian.”
