Chapter 14 The Threshold
Julian’s car was, unsurprisingly, exactly like Julian himself: sleek, silent, and intimidatingly clean.
It smelled of expensive leather and something crisp and vaguely citrusy, a scent so subtle Leo felt like he was only imagining it.
The interior was a symphony of blacks and grays, with a dashboard that glowed with a cool, blue light.
It was less a car and more a personal spacecraft, designed to move its occupant through the chaos of the world without ever touching it.
For the first few minutes of the drive, the only sounds were the soft hum of the electric engine and the rhythmic swoosh of the windshield wipers clearing away the last remnants of the storm.
The silence should have been screamingly awkward.
It should have been a suffocating void filled with the ghosts of their previous, stilted interactions.
But it wasn’t.
It was… comfortable. A shared, quiet space that felt earned.
Leo looked out the window, watching the rain-slicked streets of Starling Grove glide by, the neon signs of storefronts blurring into long streaks of color.
The car felt like a private, moving world, a bubble preserving the fragile intimacy forged in the empty office.
He was intensely aware of Julian in the driver's seat beside him, a solid, still presence in his peripheral vision.
He could see the focused line of his jaw, the way his long fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel.
The vulnerability of sharing his art, and the shock of Julian reciprocating with a secret of his own, had fundamentally altered the space between them.
The boss-employee dynamic had been scrambled, replaced by something far more complex and terrifying: two people who had seen a glimpse of each other’s hidden worlds.
The guilt was a low, constant hum beneath the surface of Leo’s thoughts. He’s being kind to a person who doesn’t exist. He’s connecting with a lie.
“I’ve never understood the appeal of a car that makes noise,” Julian said suddenly, his voice calm and low, easily cutting through the quiet.
Leo turned from the window. “What, you don’t like the deafening roar of a modified exhaust at two in the morning?”
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Julian’s lips. “I prefer to arrive without announcing my presence to the entire zip code. It seems more efficient.”
“Efficient is one word for it,” Leo bantered, a new, surprising confidence bubbling up inside him. “Boring is another. Where’s the drama? The flair? A car should have a personality.”
“My car has a personality,” Julian countered, his tone perfectly even. “It’s quiet, reliable, and it gets the job done without any unnecessary theatrics.”
Leo laughed, a real, unforced sound. “So, like I said. Boring.”
Julian shot him a sideways glance, and for the first time, the look wasn’t critical or annoyed. It was amused. Genuinely amused. The sight sent a dizzying, dangerous warmth through Leo’s chest.
“And what kind of personality does your ideal car have?” Julian asked, playing along.
“Oh, definitely something with a story,” Leo said, leaning back in the ridiculously comfortable leather seat. “Maybe a vintage convertible that’s a little unreliable. The kind you have to sweet-talk into starting on cold mornings. It’s not just a machine; it’s a relationship.”
“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 window boxes 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 feel the 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.”
Julian held his gaze for one last, lingering second before turning and walking back to his car. Leo watched him go, his heart a frantic, thrumming drum against his ribs. He didn’t move until the silent, sleek car had disappeared down the street.
He finally stepped inside his apartment and closed the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. His entire body was buzzing with a potent, terrifying cocktail of emotions. The exhilaration of that near-moment, the raw, undeniable attraction, was so powerful it made him dizzy.
But hot on its heels came the guilt, cold and crushing.
That beautiful, fragile moment? The look in Julian’s eyes? The way he had said his name?
It was all for a man who didn’t exist.