From Frost to Flame

Part 43- Between Floors and Fractured Silences

It was 8:30 PM when Pete finally finished. He saved the files one last time, powered down the computer, and sank back in his chair for a moment. The office was nearly silent now, save for the hum of the air conditioning.

As he stood to grab his bag, a faint light down the hallway caught his eye — the glow from Vegas's office. Even at this hour.

Pete checked his watch. Almost nine. Everyone had long gone home. Yet Vegas was still here?

For a moment, he stood rooted to the spot, torn between brushing it off and acknowledging it. Somehow, knowing Vegas was still in the building felt like a weight pressing down and a whisper brushing closer, both at once.

He switched off the lights at his desk, slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder, and headed to the elevator. The office felt darker now, quieter, except for the faint sound of the air conditioning and the soft hum of the lift as it came to life.

Pete pressed the button, waiting. The hum announced its approach, and then he heard it — the sound of measured, unmistakable footsteps. He didn't have to look to recognize them.

Vegas.

He came to stand beside Pete, silent. The air felt charged, tense, a quiet hum binding the space between them. The doors slid open, and Vegas stepped inside first. Pete followed, pressing the button for the ground floor. The doors closed, sealing them in.

12... 11...
The floor indicator winked down, and Pete tightened the grip on the strap of his bag, staring straight ahead. The silence pressed harder with every floor.

Pete cleared his throat, voice tentative. "Didn't expect you to still be in the office."

Vegas didn't turn. "Had a meeting," he said, voice neutral.

10... 9...

The silence returned, only deeper. Pete shifted slightly, brushing hair from his forehead as he tried to swallow down words that refused to surface.

Then, almost too soft to hear, Vegas spoke. "You two seem closer."

Pete glanced at him sharply. "Who?"

Vegas didn't reply right away. The indicator winked down. 8... 7...

Finally, still looking straight ahead, voice low and edged, he said, "You and Mr. Day."

Pete tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, staring at the floor. Heart beating just a fraction harder, he said quietly, "Yeah... he's my senior. We went to the same college. I didn't know before. Just found out recently."

Vegas was still, almost too still.

6...

Pete added, "He's sharp. Gave me a lot of guidance when I needed it."

Vegas finally glanced over, voice measured. "He said the same about you."

Pete turned slightly, surprised. "What?"

5...

Vegas's jaw flexed, a faint line drawing sharp for just a moment. "He came by my office earlier. Spent half the meeting talking about you."

4...

Pete blinked. "What did he say?"

Vegas drew in a slow breath, voice quiet but edged. "That you're smart. Methodical. Focused. One of the most promising designers he's worked with."

A faint warmth crept across Pete's cheeks. "He's exaggerating..."

3...

Vegas shrugged, voice neutral. "Maybe. Maybe not."

They sank into silence as the air grew heavier, almost palpable.

Then, almost too soft to hear, came the warning: "Just don't get distracted, Pete."

Pete glanced over, voice dropping. "I'm not."

2...

Vegas gave the faintest nod. But for a moment, a shadow passed across his gaze — a thought he refused to voice aloud.

He remembered that morning when Mr. Day came to his office. The way the man spoke about Pete:

"He's different. Pete doesn't just design — he reads the room, reads people. That kind of instinct? You can't teach it."

Vegas had nodded then, brushing it off as if it didn't matter. But it had. Too much.

1...

The doors chimed open. Vegas stepped out first, quiet as always. Pete followed a moment later, still holding on to the odd sting of those words.

He didn't understand why Vegas had said it — why it felt so sharp, so personal, when it was supposed to be just a warning. Pete tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, brushing hair from his forehead as he watched Vegas walk away, wondering quietly to himself.

What did he mean? Why had it felt like more than a comment about work? The questions sank deep, leaving Pete more puzzled than before...