The coffee machine gurgled its morning protest, a symphony Kyro knew intimately. He hummed along, a slightly off-key tune, as he meticulously arranged his toast into a tiny, edible cityscape—miniature skyscrapers of jam and butter. It was a pointless ritual, really, but it settled the buzzing knot in his stomach.

Today wasn’t just any Tuesday.

Today was the day he started his internship at Catalyst Innovations, Noah Sinclair’s company.

His father, Arthur Bellamy, strolled into the kitchen, already dressed in his crisp, charcoal suit.

“Morning, son. Ready to conquer the corporate world?” Art clapped Kyro on the shoulder, his smile warm.

They were close, closer than most fathers and sons—sharing everything from terrible puns to deep-seated anxieties.

Everything, that was, except for Kyro’s monumental, utterly ridiculous crush on Noah Sinclair.

“As I’ll ever be, Dad,” Kyro managed, trying to sound nonchalant as he carefully placed a dollop of marmalade on a particularly tall toast tower. Heat crept up his neck.

Art laughed, grabbing his own coffee.

“Noah’s a good man, Kyro. Brilliant mind, sharp as a tack. You’ll learn a lot from him. He built Catalyst from nothing, you know.”

Kyro nodded, forcing a sip of coffee.

God. Tell him something he didn’t already know.

He’d devoured every article, every interview, every grainy photo of Noah Sinclair he could find online. He knew about Noah’s philanthropic ventures, his notoriously private life, even the subtle way his lips quirked when he was amused.

He knew about the thirteen-year age gap too—the chasm that whispered doubts in his ear.

He’s your father’s friend, Kyro.
He dated someone younger once. It didn’t work.
You’re just a kid to him.

“He’s an inspiration,” Kyro said quietly.

And it was true.

Noah’s rise from nothing to billionaire CEO made Kyro’s own dream—to build his own sustainable design company—feel possible.

But that wasn’t why he’d applied here.

The real reason was much more dangerous.

Proximity.

Kyro pictured Noah in his mind—the sharp line of his jaw, the cool intelligence in his grey eyes, the dark hair that always looked effortlessly perfect.

He remembered a summer barbecue years ago. He’d been younger, awkward, and already watching Noah too closely as he laughed, charmed, and owned every room he stepped into.

Even then, something had stirred.

Now it was a full-blown gravitational pull.

“Just absorb everything you can,” Art said. “Noah appreciates initiative.”

“I will, Dad.”

Kyro shoved the last toast skyscraper into his mouth and grabbed his sleek new laptop bag. Inside were sharpened pencils, a fresh notebook, a backup charger—everything meticulously prepared.

Anything to distract from the chaos in his chest.

The city passed in a blur as he drove. He recited Catalyst’s mission statement, rehearsed facts, clung to focus.

Then the Catalyst Innovations building appeared—glass, steel, and impossibly tall.

Noah’s world.

Kyro stepped through the revolving doors into a marble-floored lobby that smelled of expensive coffee and ambition.

His palms were damp.

He was here.

And soon… he would see him.