Chapter 34: Lunchtime Reckoning
The silence after the phone call had been absolute. Suffocating. Karn remained frozen in his scarlet-faced paralysis, staring at nothing, the dropped phone a tiny, dark island on the vast expanse of polished floor. Pete knelt, the carpet fibers imprinting on his forehead, his mind a blank, echoing chamber filled only with Tarn’s shrieking voice: Brother-in-law! Confess his love! Newlyweds!
Minutes crawled by. The distant city hum felt like mockery. Finally, Karn moved. Not his head, but his hand. A sharp, jerky gesture towards Pete’s discarded clothes piled near the sofa. "Get dressed," he rasped, the words scraping raw from his throat. He wouldn't look at Pete. His entire neck and the tips of his ears still burned crimson. "Right now."
Pete scrambled. Relief warred with deeper confusion. Clothes meant a barrier, a small armor. He pulled on his simple work pants and shirt with trembling fingers, the familiar fabric feeling alien after hours of enforced nakedness. He didn't dare glance at Karn.
Karn stalked to his desk, snatched his suit jacket, and shrugged it on with stiff movements. "We're going out. Lunch." He barked the order without turning. "Now."
They walked through the corridors in silence. Karn moved fast, shoulders rigid, radiating a tension so thick Pete felt it like a physical force pushing him back. Purple Tags gave Karn respectful nods; Red Tags averted their eyes entirely. Pete kept his gaze fixed on Karn’s back, the well-tailored jacket a shield against the world. The elevator ride down was excruciating, filled only with the soft whirring of machinery and the heat radiating off Karn’s embarrassment-turned-fury.
The rooftop restaurant hit Pete like a sensory wave after the sterile silence of Karn's office. Sunlight glinted off chrome accents and glass tabletops. The air buzzed with the low murmur of confident conversation, the clink of fine cutlery, and the rich, complex aromas of seared meat, herbs, and expensive wine. Panoramic windows framed a breathtaking, dizzying view of the city sprawled far below. It was a world Pete rarely inhabited.
A hostess recognized Karn instantly, her smile professional but tinged with deference. "Mr. Thorne! Your usual table?" Karn just gave a tight nod. She led them to a secluded table near the edge, offering breathtaking vertigo along with the skyline. Pete perched awkwardly on the edge of a sleek chair, feeling utterly out of place in his worn work shirt amidst the sharp suits and designer dresses. Karn ordered for them both – steak for Pete, a salad for himself, a bottle of red wine – without consulting him.
The silence resumed, thicker here somehow, amplified by the surrounding buzz of normalcy. Pete stared at the pristine white tablecloth. Karn stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped rhythmically. The wine arrived, poured with quiet efficiency. Karn immediately lifted his glass, taking a long swallow, his knuckles white around the stem. Pete’s untouched steak arrived soon after, a perfect medium-rare, juices pooling slightly on the plate. It smelled incredible, but the thought of eating made his stomach churn.
Minutes ticked by. Pete watched the condensation bead on his water glass. Karn took another gulp of wine. Pete’s steak began to cool, the rich juices starting to congeal slightly around the edges. The words Tarn screamed – brother-in-law, Karn’s feelings, newlyweds – bounced around Pete’s skull, demanding attention, demanding sense. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to ask. He opened his mouth, but Karn spoke first.
Karn finally dragged his gaze from the window. His eyes were dark, turbulent, fixed on the rich red liquid swirling in his glass. His fingers trembled visibly around the fragile stem. He took a shaky breath, the sound barely audible over the restaurant’s ambient noise.
"I never meant," he began, his voice low, strained, each word forced out like shards of glass, "for you to hear it like that."
The admission hung there, fragile and charged, suspended over the table like the blade Pete had imagined earlier. The words brother-in-law seemed etched onto the air between them, sharp and undeniable now. Karn finally looked up, meeting Pete’s wide, utterly bewildered eyes. The fury was still there, banked but smoldering beneath layers of profound embarrassment and something else Pete couldn't decipher – a raw, desperate vulnerability that was terrifyingly unfamiliar on Karn's usually composed face. He looked cornered. Exposed. The way Pete had felt naked on the office floor.
Pete just stared back, his untouched steak forgotten, the city view a meaningless blur. He was waiting. For Karn to explain the unexplainable. To make sense of the earthquake Tarn’s phone call had unleashed. To tell him what this – the fury, the lunch, the trembling hands, the words never meant – actually meant.
Karn looked trapped, pinned by the enormity of what hung unsaid. His knuckles whitened further on the wine glass, threatening to snap the stem. That familiar fury warred violently with something raw and terrifyingly unfamiliar in his eyes – a vulnerability Pete had only glimpsed in fleeting moments.
"It was... stupid," Karn rasped, the words scraping out. He couldn't meet Pete’s bewildered gaze anymore, focusing instead on his untouched salad. "Tarn... he’s an idiot, but he wasn't... entirely wrong." He took a sharp breath, like diving into cold water. "About... feelings."
Pete’s mind stuttered. Feelings? Karn’s fury? His own persistent, humiliating erection? The phrase ‘brother-in-law’? The pieces, jagged and confusing, began a slow, grinding rotation in his head.
"Not anger at you, Pete," Karn forced out, the admission seeming to physically wound him. His voice dropped, strained. "Never at you. It’s... this. Me. How pathetically obvious I'd been. How everyone knew." He finally looked up, his face a mask of profound embarrassment, his carefully curated confidence utterly shattered. "Your mom... Tarn... laughing at it. Seeing it. Before I could..." He trailed off, helpless.
Pete stared. The expensive steak was forgotten, a cold lump on the plate. Karn’s trembling hands, the crimson flush, the refusal to look at him naked earlier... it wasn’t disgust. It was something else entirely. A terrifying, impossible idea began to take shape.
"Could what?" Pete asked, his own voice sounding distant, cautious. He leaned forward slightly, oblivious to the clatter of plates and murmur of conversation around them. "Before you could... what, Karn?"
Karn flinched as if struck. He closed his eyes for a second, gathering himself. When he opened them, they held a desperate, almost pleading intensity. The polished executive was gone, replaced by the ghost of the boy Pete used to know, scared and earnest.
"Before I could tell you myself," Karn whispered. The words hung between them, fragile and immense. He looked utterly exposed, stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with Red Tag protocols. "That's why I was furious. At myself. For being so... transparent. So cowardly. For letting Tarn be the one to... to say it."
Say it. The air crackled. Pete replayed the phone call: Did my cousin Karn finally confess his love? The world tilted. Karn’s furious reaction to Pete’s erection wasn't disgust at Pete's lack of control... it was panic at his own reaction, at the intimacy of Pete’s nakedness directed at him.
"So... seeing me like that... You getting so mad..." Pete spoke slowly, testing each word, the puzzle clicking into a startling, terrifying picture. "Tarn screaming 'brother-in-law'... It wasn't... It wasn't about me being disgusting?" His voice was small, thick with dawning, impossible comprehension. "It was... you? Feeling... that... for me?" The words felt alien, dangerous.
Karn’s answer wasn't verbal. He couldn't speak. He just stared back, his breath catching audibly, his eyes wide and impossibly vulnerable. The carefully constructed walls were down. He slowly, shakily, placed his trembling hand flat on the pristine white tablecloth, midway between them. An offering. A question. A silent plea hanging in the perfumed air. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through the lingering flush high on his cheekbone. He didn't wipe it away.
He didn’t wipe it away. That single tear, tracing the lingering flush on Karn’s sharp cheekbone, felt louder than Tarn’s entire shrieking phone call. Pete stared at the wet track, then at Karn’s trembling hand resting palm-down on the white linen between them like a surrendered weapon. The clinking cutlery and low murmur of the rooftop restaurant faded into a distant hum. Pete’s own breath hitched. Feelings. For me. The words resonated in the hollow space Tarn’s ‘brother-in-law’ blast had left behind.
"Tarn," Karn began again, his voice thick and unsteady, forcing the name out. He still couldn’t meet Pete’s eyes, focusing instead on the condensation forming on his untouched water glass. "He... he’s always been a chaos gremlin. But he saw... something." Karn swallowed hard, the movement visible in his throat. "He probably thought... hoped..." A fresh wave of crimson surged up Karn’s neck, staining his ears bright red, clashing violently with his expensive suit and the sophisticated setting. "He thought you’d... just accept it. My... feeling. Become... newlyweds." He spat the last word out like it burned his tongue, a harsh, self-mocking sound. "Like it was... simple. Like him calling you brother-in-law wasn’t the most insane, mortifying..." He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, a lock of his usually perfect hair falling forward.
"I don’t know when it started, Pete," Karn whispered, his voice cracking. He finally raised his gaze, raw and desperate. "Truly. Maybe back in that damn tiny town, maybe here. It just... grew. Like weeds in concrete. I ignored it. Buried it. Told myself it was protectiveness, friendship." He gave a short, bitter laugh that held no humor. "Until I couldn’t deny it anymore. Couldn’t pretend the sight of you kneeling, bare and trusting..." Karn’s breath hitched again, his knuckles white where he gripped the tablecloth’s edge.
Silence crashed back. Karn’s confession hung in the air, fragile and terrifying. Pete sat utterly still, the scent of his congealing steak suddenly nauseating. Karn’s feelings. Love? Directed at him. The reason for the fury, the humiliation, the bizarre, painful tension that had crackled between them for months. The naked protocols twisted into something terrifyingly intimate. Brother-in-law. Pete’s hand moved without conscious thought, drifting upwards from his lap. His fingers brushed the cool metal band encircling his neck – the collar. He traced the smooth surface, feeling the faint, familiar indentation of the engraving underneath his touch. K. Thorne. The name he belonged to. The name that now meant something infinitely more complex, than simple ownership. His thumb rubbed the cool metal. Karn watched the movement, his tear-stained face utterly still, waiting.
Pete’s fingers lingered on the cool metal collar, tracing the engraved ‘K. Thorne’ hidden beneath his touch. The rooftop breeze suddenly felt sharp, cutting through the rich aromas of seared steak and expensive perfume. Karn waited, his hand still flat on the tablecloth, utterly exposed, that single tear track undeniable. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken weight of Karn’s confession – love, not disgust.
Pete took a shaky breath, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the table. He looked directly at Karn, his eyes wide, earnest, and profoundly confused. "Karn," he started, his voice rough. "I... I still don't get it. How I made you feel that way." He shook his head slowly, frustration mingling with bewilderment. "I'm prob'ly too stupid to read people. To see what was right there."
His gaze dropped briefly to his own worn work shirt, then back to Karn’s sharp suit. "Look at me," he said, a simple statement, heavy with implication. "Just a Red Tag. Naked most days at your desk. Or kneeling." He swallowed hard. "I don't deserve to stand beside you. Not yet." His fingers brushed the collar again, a familiar anchor point. "But my heart... Karn, my whole heart's been yours. Since that day."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, fierce with sincerity amidst the clinking glasses. "The day you brought me back to your place. After Derek and Liam... and the others... humiliated and left me naked in the rain." The memory flashed – cold pavement, mocking laughter, the crushing betrayal. "You came. You got me outta there." His eyes locked onto Karn’s. "I didn't devote myself 'cause of this collar." He tapped the metal band. "Not 'cause of Purple or Red Tags." His voice thickened. "It was 'cause of you. Just you, Karn. That day. My heart chose you then, and it ain't ever looked back."
Pete straightened in his chair, his expression resolute. "So, here's what I gotta do," he stated. "I gotta climb. Higher. Work harder. Get better. Until I do deserve to stand beside you. Properly." He held Karn’s stunned gaze. "Evaluate me square. Fair. During my probation, like any other employee. No favors." His voice softened, almost a plea. "And when I've earned it... when I deserve to be by your side as an equal..." A blush crept up his neck, but his voice remained steady. "I will be the one to ask you. To be my soulmate."
Karn’s breath hitched. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. The raw, earnest promise hung in the air between them – Pete’s devotion laid bare, his path forward declared. Then, slowly, a trembling smile broke through the mortification and tension that had held Karn’s face rigid. It was small at first, tentative, then widened, genuine and bright, crinkling the corners of his eyes even as fresh tears welled. They spilled over, tracking down his cheeks, hot and human, catching the sunlight. A quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped him, mingling with the tears. He reached across the table, his hand finding Pete’s where it rested near the collar, his fingers closing gently but firmly over Pete’s own.
"I'll wait, Pete," Karn whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the happiest smile Pete had ever seen lighting his tear-streaked face. "However long it takes. I'll be right here. Waiting for that day."
Around them, the clink of glasses resumed, the hum of conversation flowed, the city glittered indifferently below. But at the table on the edge of the sky, there was only the warmth of Karn’s hand, the shine of his happy tears, and the quiet, seismic shift of a promise made.