Chapter 6: Chapter 6 : The art of collision
Micheal had learned one thing in business:
Power doesn't always sit at the top. Sometimes, it walks the corridors.
And so, he began to walk.
Strategically.
Lunch hours. Elevator timings. Routes to meetings. Restroom detours. He memorized Ken Himora's patterns, when he arrived, where he lingered, which assistant he spoke to more often, even which floors he accidentally paused on.
It began innocently enough.
A "chance" elevator ride.
The doors slid open. Micheal stepped in, pretending not to notice the man already inside. But of course, he had known. He always knew.
Ken stood near the back, arms folded, expression cool as steel. Micheal pressed the button for the 30th floor, intentionally standing just close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
Silence.
Then..
"You again?" Ken said, his tone unreadable.
Micheal turned slightly, his voice soft. "Maybe it's fate."
Ken raised a brow but didn't smile. Still, he didn't move either.
>That's enough.
Not rejection. Just resistance.
---
From that day on, Micheal escalated.
A touch on the shoulder when passing by in meetings. A low-toned compliment after Ken presented to a client:
"You're… captivating when you take control of the room."
Ken always brushed it off, with narrowed eyes, a sharp inhale, or an unspoken warning in the tight line of his mouth. But he never said stop.
And that was permission.
---
One afternoon, Micheal found himself called to the 32nd floor, Ken's territory.
"Meeting rescheduled," the secretary said. "But you're free to wait in the glass lounge."
Micheal nodded and took his place in the corner of the sunlit room. He didn't even pretend to scroll his phone.
He waited.
And Ken came.
No entourage. No warning. Just his presence, sharp suit, undone tie, sleeves rolled. He looked like power pretending to relax.
"You're early," Ken said.
"I like watching people," Micheal replied, eyes trailing over him with deliberate slowness.
Ken exhaled slowly. "You're playing a dangerous game."
Micheal tilted his head. "Is it dangerous if both players are still choosing their pieces?"
Ken stepped closer. Not touching, but close. His voice dropped lower.
"You think you're bold, but you're still naive."
"Maybe," Micheal whispered. "But you haven't walked away yet."
Their gazes locked.
Longer than was appropriate. Longer than was safe.
And in that silence, there was heat.
---
Days blurred into a pattern of controlled collisions.
One morning, in the executive hallway, they passed again. Micheal let his fingers graze Ken's wrist, subtle, intentional.
"Sorry," he murmured.
Ken didn't flinch. But his lips pressed together harder than usual.
---
Then came the late meeting.
Only a few executives stayed behind, Ken included. Micheal was there, by design, of course, his report flawless, his delivery confident.
As the others filed out, Ken stayed seated, sipping his scotch slowly.
Micheal gathered his papers with deliberate delay.
Then, without looking up, he said:
"You look tired. I could offer something better than scotch."
Ken didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But the air thickened between them.
Micheal stood slowly, walked behind Ken's chair, his fingers trailing the wooden backrest. He leaned down, his breath brushing the side of Ken's neck.
"You don't have to carry it all alone," he whispered.
Ken's hand gripped his glass tighter.
"And what do you think you could carry for me?" came the low reply.
Micheal leaned closer, lips just inches from his ear.
"Everything you're afraid to want."
pSilence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Ken stood abruptly. The chair scraped the floor. He turned, eyes unreadable, filled with something that wasn't quite anger, but not quite restraint either.
He stepped forward. Closer than ever.
Micheal didn't back down.
They were face-to-face now. Chest to chest. A breath apart.
"You want something from me," Ken said, voice low, husky. "But I don't know if it's my attention… or my downfall."
Micheal gave him a crooked smile.
"Why not both?"
Ken's jaw tensed. His eyes dropped, just briefly, to Micheal's mouth.
Then he stepped back.
Just one step.
"Be careful, Aouken."
"I'm not the one losing control."
Ken turned and walked out, fast, silent.
And Micheal stood there, heart pounding, lips curved in quiet satisfaction.
The fire is lit, he thought.
And he's already starting to burn.