The luxury suite at The Savoy in London offered a breathtaking view of the Thames, but to Damon, it felt like a gilded cage.
He had been in the city for three days. The merger talks were going smoothly. The partners were impressed, the numbers were solid, and the scotch was expensive. By all accounts, it was a successful trip.
But Damon felt hollow.
He sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, his tie undone, staring at his phone. It was 11:00 PM in London, which meant it was 6:00 PM back home.
He had touched the polaroid in his pocket so many times the edges were starting to soften. He hadn't texted Leo back. He hadn't acknowledged the "Sweet Dreams, Daddy" message or the photo itself. He had tried to play the role of the distant, disciplined father figure.
It wasn't working.
'Just check in,' Damon rationalized, unlocking his screen. 'You need to call Helen anyway. It's normal to call home.'
He opened his contacts. His thumb hovered over Helen.
Then, almost of its own volition, it slid down to Leo.
Damon pressed the video call button before he could talk himself out of it.
The screen blurred for a second, connecting across the ocean. Then, the image snapped into focus.
Damon's breath hitched.
Leo wasn't in his own room. The headboard behind him was dark mahogany, intricate and imposing. The bedside lamp casting a warm, golden glow was a Tiffany replica.
Leo was in the master bedroom. Damon's bedroom.
"Hi, Damon," Leo whispered.
The boy was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. He was wearing an oversized white t-shirt—one of Damon's old ones that had gone "missing" from the laundry last month. The neck was stretched out, exposing one smooth, pale shoulder.
"Leo?" Damon asked, his voice rougher than he intended. "Where are you?"
"In your room," Leo answered simply, a small, sleepy smile playing on his lips. "The Wi-Fi in my room was acting up. I needed to upload an assignment."
It was a lie. They both knew the mesh network covered the entire estate.
"Where is your mother?" Damon asked, trying to look past Leo's shoulder to see if the door was at least open.
"Gallery opening. She won't be back until late," Leo said. He shifted slightly, burying his face for a split second in the pillow—Damon's pillow—before looking back at the camera. "It's just me. And the house is really quiet."
Damon watched him. The pixelated image couldn't hide the intimacy of the scene. Leo looked comfortable, claimed, wrapped in Damon's sheets and wearing Damon's clothes.
"You shouldn't be in there," Damon scolded weakly.
"It smells like you," Leo murmured, ignoring the reprimand. He reached out, tracing the screen of his phone as if touching Damon's face. "I missed you."
The vulnerability in his voice struck Damon like a physical blow. The distance—three thousand miles of ocean—suddenly felt unbearable.
"I've only been gone three days," Damon said.
"Three days is a long time," Leo countered. His green eyes darkened slightly. "Did you look in your jacket pocket?"
Damon froze. He had promised himself he would have a stern conversation about boundaries. He would tell Leo that sneaking photos was unacceptable.
"I found it," Damon said.
"And?" Leo challenged, his voice dropping to a hush. "Did you tear it up?"
Damon's hand went to his pocket. He could feel the square of photo paper against his chest.
"No," Damon admitted.
Leo's smile widened, triumphant and slow. "I knew you wouldn't. You like looking at me looking at you."
"It was inappropriate, Leo," Damon tried to argue, clutching at straws of authority. "Invading my privacy like that... it's not normal behavior."
"Normal is boring," Leo dismissed. He rolled onto his back, holding the phone up. The camera angle shifted, showing the expanse of the empty bed beside him—Helen's side, untouched. "I slept here last night, by the way."
Damon's grip on the phone tightened. "Leo..."
"I got scared," Leo lied effortlessly. "The storm was bad. And the bed felt so empty. I stayed on your side. It made me feel safe."
Damon closed his eyes. He could picture it vividly—Leo curling up in his spot, surrounded by his scent, dreaming in his bed. The jealousy that flared wasn't over Leo being in the bed; it was jealousy that Damon wasn't there with him.
"I'm coming home tomorrow," Damon said abruptly.
Leo sat up, the shirt slipping further down his shoulder. "Tomorrow? I thought you were staying until Friday."
"I finished the negotiations early," Damon lied. He hadn't. He was going to have to do the rest over Zoom. He just couldn't stay in this hotel room another night knowing Leo was in his bed. "I'm catching the red-eye."
"Okay," Leo whispered, his face glowing with delight. "I'll pick you up from the airport."
"I can take a car service."
"No. I want to," Leo insisted. "I want to be the first thing you see."
Damon looked at the boy—disheveled, beautiful, wearing his clothes, waiting for him in his home.
"Fine," Damon relented. "Flight 812. lands at 6:00 AM."
"I'll be there," Leo promised. "Sweet dreams, Daddy."
The call ended before Damon could reprimand him for the nickname.
The screen went black, leaving Damon staring at his own reflection. He looked haggard. Desperate.
He stood up and walked to the closet, pulling out his suitcase. He started throwing his clothes in, not bothering to fold them neatly.
He needed to get home. He told himself it was to restore order. To kick Leo out of his room and re-establish boundaries.
But as he packed the suit jacket with the photo still in the pocket, Damon knew the truth.
He wasn't going home to stop Leo. He was going home because he was starving.