Collisions in the Dark
The boardroom fell into silence.
Lex stood at the head of the table, voice clear, jaw tight, as he laid out every detail—the sabotage, the theft of Muri's prototype, the falsified accident report, and the truth about his father's hidden dealings.
Some board members looked stunned. Others, furious.
But when Lex ended his speech with: "From this moment forward, the Cartwright name will be built on transparency—not legacy,"
—he knew something was breaking.
Micah, seated near the back, said nothing.
His eyes locked with Lex's.
No smugness. No smirk.
Just the quiet, haunting weight of something ending.
And it did.
Micah's shares were suspended.
A formal audit launched.
And Muri—gone.
She'd left the country hours before the meeting.
No goodbye. No message.
Just silence.
Later That Night — HALO Bar
Sky sat at the bar, two drinks in, trying not to think about the empty space Muri had left behind—or the haunted look in Lex's eyes.
Then he saw him.
Micah.
Slumped in a corner booth. Shirt wrinkled. Tie loose. His head rolled back against the leather, eyes glassy, lips parted like he was trying to breathe through something invisible.
Sky stood slowly.
Something was off.
Micah never lost control.
He moved to the booth. "Micah?"
No response.
Sky slid in beside him. His breath caught.
Micah's pupils were blown. His skin damp. His words slurred. "S-someone… gave me something… I think—"
Sky didn't wait.
He got him out of there.
---
Sky's Apartment
Micah staggered as Sky helped him inside, barely conscious. "Stay with me," Sky said, supporting him.
"Everything's gone," Micah mumbled, head lolling. "She's gone. Lex hates me. And I—"
He choked on his own voice.
Sky pulled him toward the shower. "You're burning up."
Cold water hissed to life. Steam curled. Sky stripped off Micah's soaked shirt, bracing him against the tile.
"You have to focus," he whispered. "Micah. Look at me."
Micah opened his eyes slowly. His breath shuddered.
Then—
He leaned forward.
And kissed Sky's neck.
Sky froze.
But Micah didn't stop.
The kiss deepened—clumsy, desperate, soaked in heat and pain. Sky tried to pull back. "You're drugged. You don't mean—"
"I do," Micah breathed, voice ragged. "You were the only one who saw me."
The words split something wide open.
And then Sky stopped thinking.
The steam, the hands, the mouths—it was more than lust. It was grief. Anger. Two fractured men trying to lose the noise in each other.
That night, they didn't sleep.
They didn't talk.
They just burned.