Tales from The Castle (Short Stories)

Manhattan Cold (BATB)

Beldon was hauling side dishes out of the fridge when Luka finally arrived home that evening close to nine.

The late evening wasn't unusual, though usually they'd eat dinner separately when one was so late home. Luka had sent a text asking for something to eat not long after he'd left the office. He hadn't been specific, but it was a hideous night and the city was fucking cold in winter.

They were spending the month at their Manhattan penthouse – which took up almost three whole floors of the building. Luka had a tendency to like being in the office directly when he was threatening to end someone's career and fix a screwup – his physical presence could be suffocating in a way conference calls could never manage.

Since Beldon's job could generally be done remotely, so long as he was still in the composing stage, he enjoyed tagging along to whichever country Luka was terrorising that month.

"Hi! Food will be ready soon!" he called from the kitchen when he heard the front door slam.

They had cleaning staff for the apartment but didn't hire a chef while in Manhattan. It didn't matter, they could both cook and Beldon liked flexing his culinary muscles once in a while.

After a moment, he realised he hadn't received an answer and he wondered over to the doorway to look out into the main room.

The main floor of the penthouse was predominantly a sunken living room. The front door opened to a large platform with steps down to the huge seating area. The kitchen was a separate room off the spacious front door landing. The floor below consisted of the dining room – the penthouse even came with a dumbwaiter – the workout room and laundry. The floor above held their bedroom, the guest room, Luka's office and Beldon's office.

Peering out towards the front door, Beldon was surprised to see Luka standing by the door, still and quiet with his eyes closed.

"Luka?" he asked carefully, and Luka opened his eyes.

"Hi," he said gently and shrugged out of his trench coat, handing it up on its ornate hanger and toeing out of his shoes.

Beldon raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn't that Luka couldn't afford many, many, many pairs of uniquely crafted shoes, each costing thousands of pounds each, but he was never dismissive of their expense. He always looked after his clothes and accessories. Beldon didn't think he'd ever seen Luka risk scraping the polished leather with the sole of his other shoe.

Come to think of it, how the hell did he manage to keep his clothes so perfect and cared for even on those nights when they tumbled into the house with no breathing room between them and any flat surface would d—"

Luka kissed his forehead as he shuffled past and Beldon almost dropped his jaw.

Luka was shuffling?!

Luka didn't shuffle.

He barely even simply walked.

He strode through life, oozing power and confidence and let everyone within self-preservation distance know that he was in charge and was not easily amused.

And he was shuffling!?

"Luka," Beldon started, sounding highly alarm but Luka cut him off.

"Did you finish your work for the day?"

"What?" Beldon asked, following him as he headed for the stairs. "Oh, yes, I sent the score out just after lunch."

"Did you remember to eat lunch?"

"I had a snack."

"Have you had dinner?"

"I waited for you."