AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mike's eyes welled up once again. As Joe leaned in, pulling Mike into a soft, comforting kiss, a ripple of warmth washed over the room.
When they pulled away, Mike sniffled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you too, Joe."
A heavy silence fell as they locked eyes. "I should have told you about my family. I'm sorry," Joe finally broke the silence.
Mike shook his head, pulling Joe closer. "No, Joe. You don't need to apologize. We'll figure this out together. And someday, they'll understand. They'll accept us. I know they will."
Chapter 17: Lina
As days rolled by, I couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere at Apex Creations. Hank, usually a creative force to be reckoned with, seemed less inspired, his zeal visibly dwindling. His once bright eyes now held a distant, unfocused gaze as if he was lost somewhere between the past and the present.
His office, once filled with vibrant sketches and innovative prototypes, now mirrored a museum of his brother Patrick's work – remnants of past campaigns, the specter of his brother's genius towering over Hank’s shoulder.
"What's going on, Hank?" I found myself asking during coffee break one day. He offered a noncommittal shrug in response, but his eyes didn't meet mine, as if he feared I'd see the turmoil within him.
The truth, however, needed no formal introduction. I knew it because Mike had shared it with me in confidence, and I had seen it manifest in Hank's work. His recent pitches – one for a cosmetics brand and another for a fitness company – were mere shadows of Patrick's masterpieces. The cosmetics advertisement had the same floral aesthetic Patrick was known for, and the fitness ad's tagline was a play on one of Patrick's most successful campaigns. They were beautiful, yes, but devoid of Hank’s personal touch. They were just echoes of his late brother's voice.
Despite the growing recognition for my own work, my heart ached for Hank. As our team celebrated the new cosmetic brand deal that my concept had won, I glanced at Hank, seated at the corner of the room, his attention focused on a sketch of Patrick's he held in his hand. It was the embodiment of his downward spiral – his declining participation in team celebrations, his lackluster pitches, and his increasing isolation.
It wasn't about winning anymore, but about extending a hand of camaraderie towards a fellow artist struggling against his own shadows.
That night, Hank and I were the last ones there.
"Hank," I called out as I stood outside his office. "How about we switch things up a bit and work in my office this time?"
He looked up from his workstation, his eyebrows furrowing. "It's already nine. We'd have to work till midnight if we take it up now."
"I'm okay with that," I said with a small shrug. "Unless you're scared of a little hard work?" I couldn't help the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"Scared?" He echoed. "Never." With a sigh and a playful roll of his eyes, he gathered his documents and followed me into my office.
As he settled into his chair, he looked around, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "Before we get started, I have a few important questions."
"You can ask them, as long as they aren't about the way I've decorated this office," I quipped, well aware of his cheeky tendencies.
Hank chuckled, a rich, warm sound that echoed off the walls. "Well, in that case, I have no further questions."
We spread the documents and blueprints out on the table, our fingers brushing over the detailed schematics of the eco-friendly car.
The silence in the room was only interrupted by the occasional rustle of paper, the scratching of pens, and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.
Just like in our last session, I stood my ground.
However, Hank was equally determined. "This again? We can't undermine the technological aspect of this car. It's a testament to human accomplishment. It's about speed, power, and success. It's about turning heads and making a statement."
I felt a nagging pull in my gut, a sense that this wasn't just about an advertisement anymore.
"Hank, don't you see? You're just recreating Patrick's vision over and over again," I blurted out, my frustration spilling into my words.
"What are you talking about?" His eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl. “Why are you bringing my brother into this?”
"You're living in your brother's shadow," I said, my voice gaining strength. "You're using Patrick's ideas as a shield, to hide from the possibility of failure. It's the same with this car. You want it to be a status symbol because you're avoiding the real issue."
"And what's the real issue?" He asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"You're deflecting. You're focusing on power and success to avoid confronting your own shortcomings," I said, meeting his glare head-on.
Hank laughed. A harsh, bitter sound that bore no resemblance to the warm chuckles I'd come to know.
