Dave Reid, Captain of a famous Cruise ship Serene. Bestfriend of Mark Lee and Aston Rossel. Attended Mark's Hotel anniversary.

Hotel anniversaries weren’t really Dave Reid’s thing.

He attended them out of obligation, not enjoyment — a crisp suit, a drink in hand, a few nods to investors, and then a clean Irish exit before the night got noisy. He’d been doing it for years, but tonight, something felt different.

He couldn’t quite place it until he saw the boy.

Slighter than the usual guests. Dressed in a clean white shirt tucked into slim brown slacks, a pair of suspenders pulling everything together like he’d time-traveled from a simpler decade. He stood off to the side, near the buffet table, shoulders slightly hunched — not out of shyness, Dave realized, but restraint. Like he knew how to take up space but chose not to.

And then the boy smiled.

A full, dimpled, unapologetic smile — and suddenly, Dave placed him.

Kyle.

He didn’t look all that different from the photo Ray once showed him years ago, face smudged with soil, holding a potted lavender and grinning like he didn’t know his smile could break hearts.

Ray had never really talked about anyone from back home except Kyle.

“He left,” Ray had said once, drunk off cheap whiskey and heartbreak. “Left me behind for his siblings. I wasn’t mad. Just… disappointed he didn’t take me with him.”

Dave hadn’t asked questions. He just listened.

And now here Kyle was. Standing beneath golden chandeliers, laughing at something a waiter said, completely unaware of the man watching him from across the ballroom.

Dave didn’t approach.

Not because he didn’t want to — but because something in Kyle’s expression made him hesitate. He looked peaceful. Busy being his own person. And Dave didn’t want to break whatever that was by digging up ghosts.

Instead, he shifted his drink and looked for Mark.

He found him almost instantly — already moving through the crowd with that unmistakable predator’s calm, suit sharp, expression unreadable.

Heading toward Kyle.

Dave’s brows lifted slightly.

Interesting.

Mark reached him. Said something short, quiet. Kyle blinked, surprised, then nodded. And then the two of them disappeared into the elevators like it was perfectly ordinary.

It wasn’t.


---

Later that night, with the party winding down and his curiosity refusing to leave him alone, Dave took the elevator up to the executive floor.

He found Mark in his office — alone, jacket draped over a chair, top button undone, staring at a box on his desk.

Dave leaned on the doorframe. “You didn’t waste much time.”

Mark didn’t glance up. “With what?”

Dave walked in. “You and the plant boy.”

“That’s very specific.”

Dave gestured toward the now-unwrapped cactus-shaped humidifier on the desk. “That from him?”

Mark was silent a beat too long.

“I see,” Dave said. “And how long has this been going on?”

“There’s nothing going on,” Mark replied flatly.

Dave tilted his head. “You disappeared with him for fifteen minutes during a party full of billionaires and shareholders. He’s what—your new florist?”

Mark finally looked at him. “He helped with the plant displays. He did good work.”

“And so you brought him to your office. For… feedback?”

Mark’s mouth twitched.

Dave sighed and walked over to the desk. He picked up the little humidifier, studying the soft green paint, the tiny LED eyes.

“He gave it a name?”

“Mr. Steve.”

Dave smirked. “Of course he did.”

He set it down gently. “You know who he is, right?”

Mark didn’t answer.

Dave gave him a long look. “He’s Ray’s best friend. The one Ray thought about for years. The one he waited for.”

Mark’s brows pulled together. “He never mentioned that.”

“He wouldn’t,” Dave said quietly. “Ray doesn’t talk about Kyle often. But when he did, it was always… tender.”

Mark’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t know that.”

“I figured,” Dave said. Then: “Are you planning to break his heart?”

Mark exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m not planning anything.”

Dave sat down across from him. “You always plan, Mark. That’s what makes you terrifying.”

Mark didn’t reply.

Outside, the city lights flickered, casting a faint glow through the glass windows. Mr. Steve blinked faintly on the corner of the desk, puffing a low stream of mist like it was exhaling judgment.

After a long silence, Mark finally said, “He walked into my office and told me the air was too dry. That no plant could survive in there.”

Dave blinked. “Did you ask him to evaluate your humidity levels?”

“No,” Mark said. “He just noticed.”

A pause.

Dave leaned back. “And that’s all it took?”

Mark looked down at the cactus humidifier, watching the mist swirl.

“…I didn’t realize the room felt different until he left.”