It wasn’t a long kiss. It wasn’t particularly accurate either and landed on the corner of the mouth.

The sleepy, half-aimed press of lips had landed on the corner of his lips. But it was still a kiss nonetheless, and Neville gave it casually like he was used to this scene.

When Neville let go, he flopped back against the pillow and pulled a blanket over his head.

"That’s enough, right?" His voice was muffled but audible. "Now let me sleep. You kept me up all night with your nonsense."

Grayson remained frozen in his half-bent position, one hand braced against the couch cushion, eyes wide.

He had been kissed.

By Neville Hope.

By his employee.

On his couch.

The corner of his lips still tingled where Neville’s mouth had touched, a phantom sensation that made his face feel warm. He had kissed Neville before once or twice impulsively, but Neville didn’t seem to remember those. But those had been his doing, his choice, his control.

This was different.

This was Neville initiating it. He reached for him, pulled him close, pressed his lips on him as if it were perfectly normal. Recalling his past impulsive deeds, he panicked even more.

What the actual hell had happened during those days?

Grayson straightened slowly, his mind raced through possibilities and discarded them just as quickly.

The most obvious explanation was that he had taken advantage of Neville during his rut. But it didn’t make sense that there was no mark. There were no obvious signs of... anything ambiguous that had happened.

More importantly, Neville’s behavior didn’t fit that of a victim. A victim of an assault wouldn’t casually kiss their attacker and tell them to stop making a fuss.

Unless Neville was in shock?

No, that didn’t work either.

His actions were too casual, too comfortable. He had called Grayson by his first name. He had mentioned being kept up all night as if it were just an annoying moment rather than a traumatic experience.

Wait—Kept him up all night doing what?

Grayson’s imagination immediately supplied several possibilities. He shoved them all aside like slamming a heavy door closed.

"Hope." He reached down and tugged at the blanket covering Neville’s head. "Hope, I’m serious. I—"

"Go away." The blanket was yanked back into place with surprising force.

Grayson has no choice but to mull over his thoughts while waiting for Neville to wake up.

○●○●

Neville woke up, and with half-lidded eyes, he stretched his arms upwards. His fingers splayed wide as his spine arched in a languid curve. A yawn escaped him, jaw cracking slightly from disuse.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, adjusting to the ambient lighting of the penthouse living room, they landed on a figure sitting ramrod straight on the couch across from him.

Grayson sat across from him, staring blankly at some point on the wall behind him. His black hair fell across his forehead a little disheveled.

Both hands were clasped together between his knees. His entire posture radiated the energy of someone who had been contemplating the meaning of existence for the past several hours and had come up empty.

Neville’s hands froze mid-stretch.

The blanket.

Where was—

His fingers found the edge of the soft throw that had been draped over him and pulled it closer, wrapping it around his shoulders like armor.

Grayson’s head went into focus at some point. His eyes looked at Neville’s body so intensely that it made Neville want to check if he still had his clothes on. The gaze lingered on the collar of his shirt, the sleeves, and the hem of his pants.

And then, Grayson’s body sagged inexplicably.

His shoulders dropped. His head tilted back against the couch cushion as he sighed the anxiety out of his system. The change was so dramatic that Neville half-expected to see the man’s soul leave his body.

What the hell?

Neville clutched the blanket tighter and tried to keep up with the situation. The last thing he remembered clearly was... well, a lot of things, actually.

He remembered even his anger, too.

He cut that thought off for now.

"Uhm," Neville started, his voice coming out rougher than expected from sleep. He cleared his throat. "Is there something...?"

Grayson lifted his head again, and this time his expression had changed seamlessly from ’existential crisis’ to ’interrogation mode.’

"What are you doing here?"

The question hung in the air between them, sharp and direct. Classic Grayson Maxwell: straight to the point that would cause the most discomfort.

Neville blinked.

Then blinked again.

What am I doing here? The audacity of this man.

"I got locked in here," Neville replied flatly.

The words fell into the space between them as stones dropped into still water.

Grayson’s brow furrowed slightly

Neville looked at his boss with growing suspicion.

Something was off.

The Grayson he had been with during the past few days was incredibly clingy and needy. Constantly expressed his intention to have and keep Neville by his side.

But Grayson was nowhere to be seen.

Grayson seemed to be reading him, too. The scrutiny made Neville’s skin prickle with awareness, and he was about to get offended.

"You’re an omega," Grayson slowly said, each word, and rested with his jaw tightened. "And I was in a rut..."

The sentence trailed off into damning silence.

Neville felt his expression blanking out. Inside, his mind was racing and his heart aching.

He doesn’t remember.

He didn’t remember doing all sorts of things to him all those days?!

The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.

That Grayson, who called him Vee, slipping from his lips with a tenderness, was gone.

That Grayson, who cared for him.

Who made him feel treasured and loved?

He was gone.

He doesn’t remember any of it.

"Do you not remember what happened?" Neville asked carefully to confirm it.

Grayson’s hands came up to cover his face. A gesture so human, so vulnerable, that it made Neville hold his breath.

When Grayson’s voice came out, it was muffled and thick with shame.

"I don’t."