𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗥 𝗗𝗘 𝗟𝗨𝗡𝗘. Demetrius Desmond

19

I WAS LAYING IN BED, watching him work as the hours dragged on. He was hunched over his desk, a picture of focus and determination as his pen moved swiftly across the pages

The steady sound of scribbling filled the room and for a while, I tried to be patient, hoping he'd look my way. But he didn't—not even once.

Two hours had passed since I arrived. Two hours of sitting in silence, feeling like a ghost in the room. On top of that i was cold and needed his warmth.

My gaze wandered to the books stacked neatly on his desk, the dim light casting shadows on his sharp profile. His face was composed as always but it lacked the warmth.

"Demetrius." I called out softly, breaking the oppressive quiet. My voice held a tinge of irritation. "Take a break. You've been working for hours."

Without even glancing up, he replied, "I can't." His tone was calm but firm, his pen not faltering for a second. "I have to finish this."

I let out a frustrated sigh and pushed myself up on my elbows, my patience slipping. "What are you even working on?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my growing annoyance.

He continued writing, barely acknowledging my question. "A political review." He said and I frowned, tilting my head. "A political review? Why do you need that?"

For the first time, he paused though he didn't look at me. "Father gave it to me." he said simply, as if that explained everything. "He said I should do them."

The knot in my stomach tightened. Of course, It had to do with his father. His presence loomed over Demetrius's life like a shadow, dictating every move, every decision.

Hearing him speak about it so unbothered, it made my chest ache. The word politician itself sent a cold shiver through me.

It was a world I despised—a world full of manipulation, greed and lies. And now, it was pulling Demetrius in. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady.

"Demetrius, what do you want to be?" I asked, though the question felt like a double-edged sword. Part of me already knew the answer but I needed to hear it from him.

"A Politician." he said with no hesitation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His pen resumed its furious scribbling. "I want to follow in my father's footsteps."

The room seemed to close in on me. My chest felt tight and my hands clenched the blanket over me. A politician. The confirmation hit harder than I expected.

I should have known. I should have known this was his path. He came from a family like that—a family with power, with influence.

It was always going to be this way. He was always going to be this way. His career represented everything I had been fighting against.

"I see." I muttered, my voice barely audible. I rolled to the other side of the bed, facing the wall. I needed a moment to gather myself, to hide the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

I felt his gaze linger on me, questioning but I didn't turn back. I couldn't. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke again.

"And you?" he asked, his voice softer this time. I hesitated, the truth too dangerous to share. "I don't know." I lied, the words heavy on my tongue. "I haven't thought much about it."

He fell quiet and I thought the conversation was over. But then his voice filled the space again, gentle yet resolute. "You don't have to work." he said and I felt his attention shift fully to me.