“It’s nothing,” he muttered instead. The smile Max gave him said he knew it wasn’t. “Everything will be fine, my love. After tomorrow it’ll be just you and me for two weeks. The office will be Ren’s problem.”

Lysander shook his head, letting go of a heavy sigh. He wanted to argue, but it would have been wasted breath. Max had always been able to read him like a book, picking up on Lysander’s moods before even he himself realized he was in a mood to begin with.

Heading towards the elevator, Max fell back, letting Niran walk ahead so he could wait for Lysander instead. Meeting his eye, he slipped his hand into Lysander’s, threading their fingers together. “You’re thinking too hard,” he informed him.

“We’re leaving. Dallas, get back to work. Send your report to Ren, I won’t read it.” Dallas fired off another easy, “Yes, sir,” and once again Niran’s eyes flickered to Max, as if expecting a reaction of some sort. They really needed to leave.

“Should you be smoking in here?” Niran called, eyebrows knit in misplaced concern. “I own this office.” Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Niran returned to his conversation, but Lysander wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.

It was one of the reasons Lysander kept him around, despite the fact that their personalities were far too similar for them to get along most of the time. Whenever he needed to sit in silence, his own thoughts too loud to allow conversation, he’d find Argus.

Accepting it just as wordlessly, he lit his own before passing the lighter to Argus. He glanced in the direction Lysander had been staring and Lysander could tell from the look in his eyes he knew what the issue was, but still he said nothing.

“Sir.” Argus’ voice wrenched him back from the ledge overlooking the crash sight. His tone said it wasn’t the first time he’d attempted to get Lysander’s attention. Prying his eyes away from the scene, he found a cigarette offered without comment.

He had known it would happen when they invited everybody out to the valley for the wedding, had spent weeks convincing himself he was fine with it. He’d moved the trains into each other’s paths himself by allowing Niran into the office. Still, his stomach turned.

Listening to Niran laugh at whatever Dallas had told him, Lysander felt as if he were watching the crash in slow motion, the dull thrum in his ears the sound of metal twisting and warping as train cars went flying off their tracks. Black smoke billowed, but there was no fire visible just yet.

He’d spent a great deal of time straightening tracks and hammering out dents to ensure they would never collide, two trains heading in the same direction but never running close enough to touch. The inevitability of the impending collision was a thought he kept carefully tucked out of view.

In the city he was nothing more than a wayward son, a childhood friend turned strange by the years, sitting just out of reach but close enough that they were aware of his presence, quiet as it may be. Violence unseen and hands meticulously scrubbed clean.

In the valley he was a businessman, cold and calculating and capable of immense cruelty. He was a good friend and a better brother and husband, but those things were only possible because they knew of the blood that stained his hands, the jagged pieces that fit together to make him who he was.

For the past eight years, Lysander had led two different lives, two very separate lives, and he kept them separate for a reason. They were meant to run parallel to each other, never intersecting and never crossing paths.

Lysander just scoffed. “Of course they do, it’s called ‘respect’, Ran.” Niran could do nothing but shake his head. “You used to trip our principal in the hallway, when the fuck did you learn what the word ‘respect’ meant?”

The idea that anyone called him ‘sir’, listened to what he said and did what he told them to without question, it was unfathomable. But then Max stifled a laugh, and Niran remembered where he had been three years ago. Maybe he shouldn’t have been shocked by anything that had to do with Lysander.

“They call you ‘sir’,” Niran blurted out before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help it. It was all so… 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥. This was a kid he used to scrape his knees skateboarding with, his partner in crime for stealing exam answer keys, his accomplice in skipping out on detention.

When only the blonde man remained, Lysander jerked his chin towards the stairs. “My office. You’re going to tell me everything you didn’t over the phone.” “Yes, sir.” He sent a curt nod in Max’s direction, eyes skimming quickly over Niran, and then he turned and headed for the stairs.

“Yes, sir,” they answered without hesitation, already beginning to move. The other man, Dallas, he had said it too, but for some reason Niran hadn’t expected it to be a pattern. They called him 𝘴𝘪𝘳. He glanced to Max again, but still, the surprise he thought should have been there was absent.

Lysander cut her off with a look and she fell silent. Even Niran could see he wasn’t looking for excuses. “You two,” he pointed to the woman and the taller man, “Get over there and find out what the fuck is happening with my surveillance. I don’t pay you people to let shit slip through the cracks.”

Turning back to the three he had called over, Lysander took a moment to stare them down, expression frigid. “Is the surveillance team just sitting on their asses these days? Why’s Callahan frolicking through my fucking backyard right now?” “Do you know how big this city is—?” the woman started.

“Yes, sir!” the man chirped back cheerfully, shooting a bright smile and a tiny wave in Max’s direction as he made his way back to what must have been his desk. Max returned the wave with an equally bright smile.

As the three strangers approached, Niran felt inclined to fall into line beside them. “Where’s Dallas?” A head of shaggy brunette poked out of a wide doorway to their right. “Figure out why I wasn’t alerted of Callahan’s movements on the west side of town.”

He’d heard every manner of emotion from the other man over the years, and he had certainly heard him angry enough times to never forget the sound of it. This wasn’t that same anger though; it was authoritative, commanding, something completely unquestionable. It was slightly frightening.

“Meade, Argus, Valentino, over here, right now,” Lysander barked suddenly and Niran jumped. He and Lysander had been friends for a decade at that point, had known each other since they were sixteen years old. He didn’t think he’d ever heard him speak like that before.

There was a twisting staircase in one corner and it occurred to him then that this place must have had a second floor as well. How much space could they have actually needed? And 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 were they doing here? He would have asked if he didn’t already know it wouldn’t get him any answers anyway.

It was 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦. Nine foot walls cut the room up into cubicles, some empty but others holding occupants hard at work. Floor to ceiling windows lit the the far side of the office brightly, the afternoon sun warming the entire space enough that he could hear the AC system buzzing above their heads.

When they stepped past the empty desk, Max gave it an unamused once over. “He could at least sit where he’s paid to sit,” he muttered under his breath. Niran meant to ask who he was talking about, but then he caught sight of the room beyond and lost his grasp on the English language entirely.

Niran looked to Max, for some reason expecting him to be just as shocked as he was; maybe they’d gotten off on the wrong floor, maybe this was a mistake. Max wasn’t shocked. In fact, he looked completely at ease, like he’d been there countless times, knew the place like the back of his hand.

He couldn’t even see that far in yet, just the entranceway, what must have been a little waiting area with a couch and a secretary's desk sitting empty. Just past the desk though the room seemed to open up even further, stretching around the corner and out of sight.

Truthfully, Niran didn’t know what he’d expected to find when Lysander had begrudgingly agreed to let him follow them up to the office. Stepping off the elevator on the eleventh floor of the building they’d parked in front of, he knew for a fact this was not anything like what he’d been imagining.

platonic soulmates because theyd be too powerful as an actual couple

been painting a ceiling for two hours I’m nowhere near done the only thing getting me through this is the lord and savior freddie durst and his butthole album

When he didn’t, Max took his chin in his hand and Lysander met his eye. “We’re turning your phone off tomorrow. I don't care if the office burns to the ground while we’re gone. They will not ruin my wedding or interrupt my honeymoon. Got it?” Lysander nodded without hesitation.

It was only a moment more before Lysander hung up the phone wordlessly, shoving it roughly into his pocket as he rejoined them. “We have to stop by the office quick,” he informed them, frame tight with a furious tension. Reaching out, Max waited to see if his husband would pull away from him.

He glanced to the attendant sat at the desk at the front of the gym but Max didn’t have to look to know she’d have her nose dutifully buried in her phone; she and her coworkers were paid well for their discretion, not their mediocre customer service.

“Does the idea of me killing you get you hard or something?” Lysander demanded suddenly, gruff voice riddled with anger. “Is that why you keep doing this? You get your rocks off to the thought of me slitting your fucking throat?” “Goddamn…” Niran muttered at Max’s side.

They weren’t stupid, per se, not in the way Lysander always claimed they were, but they did rely rather heavily on him and Ren. It was the curse of their word being law within the company; what the brothers said went, and all major decisions were run by them before any orders could be given.

Across the room, Lysander’s voice had started at an inaudible level, but it was steadily rising as the conversation went on. Max knew the employees with direct access to his husband’s phone number, had a few guesses as to who it might be based on the way Lysander was speaking to them.

“Ran…” Max warned. “I’m just saying! Almost eight years and no one knows what ‘work’ means when him and Ren say it!” The look Max gave him in return was unimpressed. “You’re better off that way.” Niran grimaced. “That bad, huh?” “Ran.” “Fine!”

Stepping away, Lysander answered the call just as it was about to be sent to voicemail. Max could feel Niran’s eyes on the side of his head. He already knew what the man was going to say before he’d even opened his mouth and was unsurprised when he started with, “You know—”

“Work?” Max asked, ignoring the way Niran glanced between the two of them curiously. Lysander nodded, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “They know you’re off for the next month, right? They can’t survive without you for a month?” “They’re stupid. Every single one of them.”

“I wasn’t going to—!” Lysander’s argument was cut off by the ringing of his phone from where it sat on the floor with the rest of his stuff. Snatching it up and checking the screen, he groaned so loudly one would have thought it was a bill collector or the feds.

“The apartment is full of people,” Lysander answered, taking a long drink from his water bottle. That would have been explanation enough, but Niran added, “We had to leave before he started punching people!” voice chipper as he said it.

Feet stopping as soon as the music had, Niran jumped off the end of his treadmill, crossing the room in a few long strides to wrap sweaty arms tight around Max. “What are you doing here?” Max asked, returning the hug just as tightly, “Didn’t you and Bon just get here a few hours ago?”

𝑃𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑦— The music cut off. The look Lysander shot in Max’s direction said he could finally hear himself thinking again.

Max turned the corner and realized immediately what the issue was. It wasn’t Lysander’s playlist that was blaring through the speakers. 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑝𝑖𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 “Maxi!” Niran yelled, forgetting what he was doing and nearly slipping off his treadmill.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 Lysander thought Harvey Danger was a one hit wonder, which they weren’t, technically, but that didn't change the fact that he wouldn’t usually turn it on himself. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼’𝑚 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙

Weights days were all fast paced, in your face, heavy metal screaming from the speakers. 𝐼 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑢𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 Max had no idea which playlist this was, but clearly not Lysander’s usual.