Work Text:
It ain't funny, it ain't pretty, it ain't sweet.
Oh, and I'm afraid that's just the way the world works.
But I think that it could work for you and me.
The flat was full of overwhelming but strangely comforting silence; the living room and kitchen were mostly hidden in semi-darkness, only a standing lamp in the corner illuminating some colourful light through stained glass. Uncertainly, he moved inside, leaving a long, black coat on a hanger in the hall and negligently abandoning a pair of boots. By taking a cowl from his head off, he revealed messy red curls, which were falling on a slightly blushed countenance from December coldness. He quickly combined frizzy strands in a ponytail with a hairband around his wrist so as not to be bothered with unruly curls and headed straight to the living room. Biting his lower lip in an involuntary habit that caused the surface of the epidermis to be damaged, he glanced over the place, noticing pieces of paper scattered over the coffee table, probably some documents needing review. There was also an empty cup with a tea bag inside, a sign left by someone who had worked on the files. On the sofa, he found a book which he had read that day before leaving the flat and forgot to put it in the proper place and a discarded blanket. He scolded himself for not cleaning the items and leaving them without a thought, which probably triggered an unpleasant grunt from his partner, as the man despised any sign of untidiness. But then again he gazed at the mess on the table; Redhead wasn't the only one to forget about cleaning.
The fire was crackling in the chimney, the temperature high enough to quickly get him warmed up and stop his body from shivering. Peace emerging from every corner of the modern-fashioned flat brought to his mind unflinching calm, making him wish for a cosy evening with a mug full of hot cocoa and an old novel about a predictable but comforting love story, with his partner beside him. Right, he probably should find Haytham; the older man must be somewhere around, perhaps still working or talking over the phone (surely about work). He couldn't stop a tender smile which reflected his pale countenance covered by golden freckles when he visualised his partner sitting behind the huge, wooden desk, a laptop and notes around him, probably two or three empty cups of coffee or tea, which he had been drinking during the day, calling one of his contacts to gather some valuable information, not giving himself a moment of rest.
Haytham Kenway was a busy man, never wasting his precious time and energy on trifling issues, commending others to take care of them. He always does something and Shay Cormac learnt the hard way not to interrupt him, when he has important tasks to accomplish. As an entrepreneur, the CEO of one of the biggest international companies in the world, an innovator in high technology, wanting to conquer the whole world to rule wisely and get rid of stupidity and brutality (not that he would openly confirm it), he has a lot of obligations and goals to achieve. Shay understands the responsibility, sometimes even managing to support him throughout the day with little help (Redhead had an intricate way of thinking, entirely different from Kenway, which was useful when the older man overlooked an issue). He was a very supportive boyfriend, who once even tried to understand all the exhausting calculations, equations, and charts standing behind the production and investment (with unsatisfying effects, unfortunately). But as a supportive boyfriend, he cares more about Haytham's health and welfare. That is why he turns down every argument about deadlines, important business or whatever might have occurred while Haytham is noticeably tired and in need of proper rest; he becomes merciless and so annoying that the older man eventually gives up. And if he sees Haytham still working, he will clearly use his charm to dissuade him.
Moving slowly and silently through the corridor, he peeked inside the home office, rays of light illuminating from behind the doors. He shook his head with amusement as his black eyes fell on a tall, massive figure standing in front of the window with his back aimed at the door, speaking with someone on the phone. He opened the entrance slightly so as not to betray his position, guessing that Kenway didn't realise his presence, too absorbed in work and conversation. He was wearing a white shirt and fitting dress pants which emphasised wide shoulders and broad chest, black strands with some grey hair around the temples slicked back, one hand in the pocket; his silhouette showed signs of composure and control, clearly at rest, not expecting an attack from behind (Shay might be wrong though, approaching Haytham was a challenge). Redhead was skilled, being like a ghost whenever he needed to, an admirable ability which helped him survive more than once. He was good at vanishing and surprising the enemy. But Kenway was trained, too, far better than him.
So he didn't even flinch when Shay slowly approached the taller figure and embraced his hips with arms. Haytham barely reacted to that, still speaking with a person on the other side of the phone, ignoring him, causing a roll of black, slightly slanted eyes. No matter how hard he tried, it was nearly impossible to bring out of that man a proper reaction. That is why, without much consideration, he divested Haytham of his phone, obviously something the older man wasn't prepared for at all.
"Hey, Chaaarlie, I'm stealing him, so have a nice evening and don't overwork yourself," he said sweetly with a cheeky smile on the phone, guessing that Haytham was talking with one of his closest workers, Charles Lee, who acts as a main lawyer in the company. He heard a snort in response (Charles had that softer spot for him, obviously) and then he ended the call.
"I was talking" came the response from Kenway, who turned and now faced him, his voice strict and disapproving, the accent of a posh Englishman, who complained about a lack of tea at five o'clock. Oh, so typical.
"You didn't even flinch", Shay said with a barely serious voice, trying so hard not to laugh.
"I scented your perfume the moment you entered the room" Haytham pointed, then, taking his phone from the younger's hand.
Redhead pouted his lips, marking the comment about his perfumes though, promising himself to be successful at scaring his boyfriend off another time. But the unsatisfied look on his countenance quickly vanished when he eyed the older man, noting the intense stare of grey eyes, fortified and full of coldness. They remind Shay of arctic waters hidden beneath the thick surface of freezing ice, cracking warningly with every step taken. But he wasn't one to turn back from danger, embracing it rather in various stages of his life; he was simultaneously reckless and brave, reaching for the uncharted and unknown, ready to gain experience. There was that fascination, emotion and a desire beyond the measure to unfold the quiddity. He had taken the steps everybody was afraid of, discovering by action a beautiful soul and a patched heart, still capable of loving, despite the daily worn mask and hidden feelings.
"How was your day?" he asked then, putting his cold palm on Kenway's cheek.
"Nothing special."
The usual answer, which meant that Haytham wasn't in the mood to talk about what he did that day, but also about occurring problems; and it was upsetting. But he had been learning how to get used to his self-contained personality. Because it was the way Haytham Kenway was, protecting himself from the world under the coldness and the surface of the ice, a freezing abyss without a bottom. Despite the difficulty in communication, somehow, they managed to survive with each other and handle themselves in a conciliatory manner.
"How about some tea?" he proposed with a tender smile, gently caressing the older man's cheek.
A lighter shade of grey, a kiss on his temple and warm fingers intertwining in red curls were enough to be considered as an approval of his suggestion; after all, he was talking with a Brit, who was more English than the king and Shay finds it sometimes unbelievable to be loved by such kind of man.