ARE WE STANDING ON A CLIFF?

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The silence that followed was deafening, as Ian remained motionless, almost paralyzed by the weight of what he'd just heard. His eyes, usually so controlled, were now a turbulent sea, as if the words he needed to say had drowned in them.

"You... you..." Ian's voice broke, fragile, the words tangled in his throat. He was vulnerable, more than Oliver had ever seen him, and that only made everything harder. "Did you meet someone?" Oliver watched, impatient, but unable to shake the discomfort growing inside him.

"You're smarter than that, Ian," he shot back, not with anger, but with a weariness that felt almost dangerous, like someone who already knew the end of the story before it even began. Ian didn't respond, but his feet started moving erratically across the room, his body tense, as though on the verge of collapsing.

"You've got to be kidding me." The sentence came out torn, half to the air, half to himself, as he ran his hands through his hair, as if that could keep him grounded. But there was no ground anymore, not now. The floor had dissolved beneath him, and shock was all that remained.

Oliver took a deep breath, feeling the blood boil in his veins, but he held back. "Ian, I'm not kidding."

Ian stopped walking, as if Oliver's words had pulled him back to reality. His face turned, pale and disbelieving.

"Oliver... I... you..." Once again, his voice faltered, breaking. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to find an alternative to whatever this meant. "This isn't... you can't."

Oliver could feel the tension in every line of Ian's body. It was heartbreaking. He watched every hesitant movement, every involuntary reaction, as if witnessing someone shattering in real time. "Say something I don't already know." He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to clear the confusion from his thoughts.

When he looked up again, Ian was standing in front of him, quieter, but the intensity hadn't faded. If anything, it had only grown, a force just waiting to explode.

"Oliver, do you have any idea what this means for us?" His tone was sharp, but there was a thick sadness beneath it, like someone who had just realized there was a freefall ahead. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling slowly, as if trying to hold himself together for just a few more seconds. "I'm here to assist you in choosing a bride, not to make you fall in love with me."

"Well, that's one hell of a twist, then," Oliver muttered, a humorless smile tugging at his lips, bitter and lifeless. He shook his head, laughing at something that wasn't funny, an irony too absurd to ignore. Ian turned away, exhaling a long sigh. The sound seemed louder in the tense silence surrounding them. He stood there, with his back to Oliver, for so long that the quiet became unbearable again. When he finally turned around, his expression had changed. The shock and resistance had been replaced by something far heavier — a contained but deadly despair that took Oliver's breath away.

He stepped closer to Oliver, his voice softening into a whisper: "I'm sorry." He moved near enough for Oliver to touch him. "For my clumsiness. I honestly didn't expect to hear that from you."

Oliver blinked, absorbing the words. "Is it that horrible?" he asked, a touch of vulnerability creeping into his voice, surprising him.

"It's not horrible, just... unexpected." Ian hesitated, his hands tracing small circles on Oliver's knees, the touch light, almost casual, yet it seemed to ignite something deep inside both of them. "It's us. I'm just your advisor. This was supposed to be easy, practical... but suddenly, none of it is."

Oliver let out a sigh, as if it lifted the weight from his shoulders. "I don't know how we got here, either," he confessed, leaning in slightly until their foreheads touched, as though the simple gesture held the answer he needed. "The sex was always amazing, but now... there's something else. Something pulling me toward you in a way I can't ignore."

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