『••✎••』

Gideon had always been a character that you were fascinated by. He was mysterious, powerful, and, of course, had an ego to match. Despite how he seemed to others, you always saw something else behind that sly smile of his. You always felt like there was something about him that you were missing. Something that drew you to him like a magnet.

Oddly enough, the two of you had met through Ramona, and though you were intrigued, you also hated him. The moment you two met, you couldn't get away from him quick enough. The guy just rubbed you the wrong way.

However, you couldn't deny that he had a charm to him. As much as you hated it, you found yourself staring at him sometimes. You couldn't help it when he was around. His aura always made you feel nervous.

Julia had told you that you were living a true "life of the cliche,” and as much as you wanted to tell her that she was full of shit, there was some truth to what she said.

There was something about the man that always made you look twice. You didn't understand what it was, but he made you feel some type of way. It didn’t help when he would seek you out, going as far as to con his way into being with you.

He knew how to push your buttons. So, you knew it would only be a certain amount of time before he found a way in. And thus, that enemies-to-lovers story was written.

The two of you had started off rocky, of course. You always fought, mostly about little things and the occasional heavy blowout. It didn't help that you and Gideon had very different personalities or the fact that he was the most narcissistic person you knew.

But right when you started to smooth out those cracks, it all changed come after the events with Ramona and his league of assholes. He became more work-driven. Less of the Gideon you were used to. You were kind of proud of him for that, but at the same time, you hated that he changed so drastically.

The Gideon you knew was full of snarky remarks, a subtle asshole with a sense of humor, and of course, the constant flirting. You liked to think that that was the Gideon you liked and knew.

The man in front of you now didn't give a shit about anything that wasn't work. He worked until he passed out and only stopped when someone dragged him away from his desk. He even slept there sometimes.

You didn't like how he had become. It hurt you. He wasn't the man you knew anymore. The man you knew was gone, and it made your chest ache.

"Hey," you say softly, coming up behind him and setting a cup of coffee on his desk. He turns his head, his gaze falling on you. You watch as his brows furrow before he looks at the cup of coffee.

"What's this?" He asks, raising a brow.

"It's just a cup of coffee." You reply, sitting across from him at his desk and pulling a sketchbook out of your bag.

"A cup of coffee?" He repeats, picking it up and taking a sip. His brows furrow as he continues to stare at it. He grimaces.

"Too hot, but yeah, coffee. It's the liquid gold of the earth." You smile.

"Liquid gold?" He asks, taking another sip and wincing. "I don't see it."

You shrug, flipping to a blank page in your sketchbook. The old him would’ve said something witty back. He would've made a joke at the expense of your taste in coffee. He’d probably be looking you up and down and saying something about how he knew what he liked in his coffee.

Instead, he was silent, his attention going back to his screen. You look at him for a moment, his fingers flying across his keyboard.

"Do you even sleep?" You ask him, and you swear that you hear him sigh.

"Not when I can help it." He replies, not bothering to look at you.

"Gideon-"

"You shouldn't be here." He cuts you off. You purse your lips together, sighing. When he looked at you for a split second, just a fraction of a second, you could tell that there was something wrong. He had deep bags under his eyes, and it was obvious that he was exhausted. He looked pale like he was sick. You don't think he's slept for the past few days.

"Why don't we go home?" You ask him. "We can work tomorrow."

"No," he says, not even bothering to look up at you.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," you tell him, standing up and setting your hand on his shoulder. He flinches. "You can't keep pushing yourself to the point of collapse."

"I'm fine," he replies.

"You aren't." You insist. You glance around his office, seeing papers scattered everywhere. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was overworked.

"I am, and I can't keep this up." He replies.

"Keep what up?" You ask, and when you glance at him, he looks tired. You can see the dark circles under his eyes and his brow furrow as he types away.

"I can't keep you up." He says after a moment, not looking at you. You blink a few times, furrowing your brow.

"What do you mean?" You might ask, but you're already pretty sure what he's referring to. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, stopping it midway, and shaking his head. He slouches in his seat.

"I mean that this is all pointless, isn't it? Why try when the world is ending? Why try when I'll just die alone? When there is no one who cares about me and no one who gives a shit about me." He says, his words bitter, laced with exhaustion. You can see his expression fall. His hands go back to the keyboard, and you furrow your brow as you watch him.

"Gideon..."

"I don't want you to care about me," he snaps. "Why would you want to?"

"I want to because I do care," you tell him. You sigh softly. "Unlike Ramona, I don't see you like that."

"Do not mention her to me. Don't." His tone changes drastically. You watch as he shakes his head. "Don't talk to me."

"Gideon, what's wrong?" You ask, kneeling down beside his desk. You reach out to him, but he smacks your hand away, a look of fury on his face. He glares at you, but you can tell there's something behind his glare. You can see how broken he looks. How much he needs someone right now.

"You're useless," he says bitterly, and it hurts you more than it should. You open your mouth to respond, but he stops you, not wanting to hear it. "Don't say anything."

"I don't want to leave you like this." You tell him, and you can see the way his expression falls.

"I don't care what you want," he tells you, but you can see the way his lips part and the way he looks at you. You watch as he averts his gaze from you. He stares at his screen, his brow furrowed. "Go home."

"Gideon-"

"Please," he says, and the desperation is in his voice. "Just... go."

You watch him for a moment, the pencil in your hands still. You let out a heavy breath, looking down. He wasn’t going to budge; you knew that now. He was set in his ways, and he wasn't going to let you in. You know him well enough to know when he's set in stone.

You sigh, setting your sketchbook and pencil back into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You shake your head at him, your gaze soft. "You know where I'll be if you change your mind."

He doesn't reply to you. You press your lips together as you turn on your heel, walking away. You know that he isn't going to find you. He's going to sit there all alone and work himself to death.

You know that no matter how you try, he's going to find a way to push you away. You know that he's going to do what he wants, and he's going to be stubborn.

So you decide to give him his space. You decide to go home and leave him alone. You don't know what you were thinking, coming into his office with coffee. He would never say it but you were hoping you could help.

Maybe if he let his walls down, he would feel better about himself. You know it was too much to ask, but it's what you wanted.

You decide to let him work. You'll just be here, waiting for him to come to you. It's all you can do. It's all you can do to show that you care for him.

That's all you can do, right?

A couple of hours pass by, and you're sitting in your bed, a mug of tea in your hands. Your sketchbook is open in front of you, and you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple.

You really need to draw something to get out of your headspace, but it doesn't help. It's been an hour, and there are still no new pages of art. The most recent drawing is still the one you drew of Gideon.

He was in his usual attire with his katana against his shoulder. His eyes were glued to the ground in it, a small smile on his lips.

You drew it back when he was still… him. The old him. You were scared to give it to him at the fear of him laughing in your face. Now, you were afraid that he wouldn’t even care.

You sigh softly. You know you have to face the reality that the man you've always liked won't be the man he was again. Not for a while, anyway.

"What am I going to do with you, Gideon?" You murmur, your voice thick with sadness. The tea you were drinking didn't taste as good as you hoped it would. It tasted bitter to you now, and it didn't sit right with you.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the headboard of your bed, closing your eyes. You lay there in silence, waiting for the morning to come.

It wouldn't come.

Not with Gideon still overworking himself at his desk. At least, not until he noticed a small piece of paper beside his keyboard. It turns out that when you opened your sketchbook, an old drawing came tumbling out without your knowledge.

It was a super old one, probably one of the first you did of him. You weren’t even talking at that point, just staring from afar as you tried to figure out why you were so attracted to this guy.

You still don't understand, honestly.

But as Gideon stared at the drawing, the insane amount of stress that was on his shoulders seemed to lift for a moment. He glanced towards the door before going back to the drawing, staring at it.

The amount of detail that you put in the drawing shocked him. He almost felt as though he was looking in a mirror—a mirror of his old self.

You got everything right. His hair length, the outfit, the color of his eyes, even the tiny scratches on the lens of his glasses. It was almost eerie how much you got right.

It's the little things you notice about people. The little things you remember.

He remembered that you said that.

You had been in a rather philosophical mood that day. He remembered it because it stuck with him. He'd forgotten that.

"Damn it.” He murmured, folding up the drawing as he glanced at the door. He stared at it for a moment before gently setting the drawing in his pocket. "Why am I like this?"

He knew that you were probably asleep by now, maybe curled up with a cup of tea, but he sighed, reaching over for the telephone.

He was right; of course, you were asleep. But you weren't asleep long.

"You always did have an eye for detail."

He spoke to himself, but you heard enough to know it was him. You didn't move from your place, however. You stayed still as a statue, your eyes closed.

"Gideon?” Your voice was a soft, almost fragile whisper. It was soft, yet it felt like it echoed throughout the entire room. He smiled, but you couldn't see that.

He fell silent for a long time. It seemed like forever, but you knew what he was trying to do. He wanted to hear your voice.

He was desperate for it.

“Yeah,” he replied, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Yeah, it’s me.”

There was a slight pause. You didn't reply for a long time. You lay there in the dark, the quiet and the sound of static being the only thing you heard.

But when you spoke, you sounded the same way he did, almost a bit fragile and broken, your tone thick with sadness.

"Why are you different? Why?" You ask, your voice wavering and cracking. You sit up, setting your sketchbook to the side, your fingers gripping your comforter as you wait for him to reply.

He did, and after a moment, his voice was quiet, soft. "I— I don’t know. I really don't."

There was a moment when you couldn't breathe. He sounded so broken and so desperate to be around someone. You wanted to drive back where he was. You wanted to give him the hug you knew he wanted.

"Come home." You say softly.

There was a moment of silence, not an uncomfortable silence, but more of a thoughtfulness. You weren't sure what he was thinking or if he would respond. You were about to pull the phone away from your ear, but you heard his voice again.

"Okay."

It was such a simple answer, but it meant so much to you. It made your heart skip a beat. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. It was like you were in shock, frozen solid as you sat in bed.

"For what it’s worth,” he said softly. You can almost picture him looking up at the ceiling with that look in his eye. The one you always saw when he thought about the past. The one where he was vulnerable. Where he didn't feel like the strongest man on earth.

Where he didn't have a mask on.

“I didn’t mean it when I said you were useless. You're not… useless. You're the only one who cares enough to try, and I didn't realize how much that mattered to me."

“Gid-"

"I don’t… say this often, but when I’m wrong, I'm wrong." He says, and you feel your chest ache. He pauses. "So, uh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you murmured.

"You deserve better than what I've given you." He tells you, his voice soft.

"Yeah, I do, but I also want you." You confess. "I just want the you I knew before all this bullshit. Even if you were a bit of a dick.”

He laughed softly at your response. "Oh, trust me, I'm still plenty of that."

You laughed softly. You felt yourself relax slightly. He was starting to come back to you, slowly but surely. You smiled softly as you settled back in your bed.

"Forgiven?” He asked after a moment.

"Forgiven." You confirm, and you hear him sigh softly. He's relieved.

You can picture the grin on his face. The one that he wore when he thought he had you wrapped around his finger. It's a nice grin. It makes your heart flutter.

"Hurry up and get back to me." You tell him. "I wanna sleep. You woke me up."

"Alright, alright, fine. I'll see you soon, love." He replied, the nickname making your cheeks flush. He always seemed to know exactly what to say, but now you feel like he's letting his walls down.

"I love you too," you say, and you swear that you hear him sigh softly like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He hung up, but now you didn’t mind because he was coming back to you. The old him was coming back to you.