From Frost to Flame

Part 44: Where Eyes Linger

The weekend passed in a blur—slow, quiet, and oddly heavy.

Pete tried not to think about it. About him.
But every time his mind wandered, it returned to that elevator ride. The silence. The question. The way Vegas had said it—like it meant more than it should.

By Monday morning, Pete still didn't have an answer.

He stepped into the office, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes sweeping instinctively toward the far end of the floor.

Vegas was there.

Black button-down. Sleeves crisp. Focus unreadable as ever. He looked up once—not at Pete, but past him, as if he wasn't even there.

And that stung more than Pete wanted to admit.

He reached his desk quietly, logging in and going through the motions. Around him, the team settled into their usual Monday shuffle—coffee cups, keyboard clacks, morning updates. But none of it could drown out the way Pete's heart raced every time he sensed Vegas nearby.

They didn't speak.
Not at the water station.
Not in the meeting room.
Not even when Sky cracked a joke loud enough to shake the walls.

And that confused Pete more than anything.

Why say something that felt so... pointed, only to pretend nothing happened?

He caught himself glancing across the room—just once—but Vegas didn't return it. He was busy. Always busy. Always unreadable.

Pete sighed quietly and turned back to his screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Work was supposed to be his distraction. His safe space.

But now even silence felt loaded.
Especially his silence.

In the office, Sky spun into his chair beside Pete, sipping from a giant iced coffee like it held the answer to everything.

"You survived the weekend," he said lightly, raising a brow.

Pete managed a small smile. "Barely."

Sky leaned in a little, voice low but casual. "You look like someone's been living rent-free in your head all weekend."

Pete blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Sky shrugged, tapping his pen against the table. "You've just been quiet. Even for you. That's saying something."

Pete didn't answer. He didn't know how.
Because Sky wasn't wrong.

Sky softened slightly, the sarcasm sliding off for just a second.
"Hey. You don't have to talk about it. But if something's messing with your head, don't bottle it up too tight. You'll explode. And take your poor design files with you."

Pete let out a short laugh, grateful for the levity. "Thanks, Sky."

"Anytime, Pete-o."

Sky rolled back to his desk, humming under his breath. And Pete turned back to his screen, trying to refocus, letting the rhythm of layout notes and pending revisions pull him under.

But across the room, Vegas watched.

From behind the frosted glass of the planning bay, he stood by the wall—files in hand, but forgotten. His eyes stayed fixed on Pete. Not constantly. Not obviously. But often enough that he noticed every shift in Pete's expression.

The way he smiled politely at others, but never fully.
The way he bit his lip when reviewing code.
The way he tugged his sleeve down when he was nervous.
The way he leaned toward Sky when he laughed, but pulled back too fast—like catching himself.