it’s only been a week.

only? don’t belittle aspen ryton’s feelings. he feels like it’s been months, which by emotional law means it has, in fact, been months. geological eras have passed. continents have shifted. and still-no call back from the architect.

the architect.

aspen had been certain the meeting went well. he’d smiled. he’d nodded. gosh, he gave you coffee and asked if you wanted breakfast and definitely wasn’t unprofessional. he thinks. meanwhile, his advisor, maverick, had been vibrating in his seat like a kettle about to boil over. the second you’d left the building, maverick had absolutely lost it. folded in half, wheezing on the marble floor, tie askew, dignity deceased.

upon finally calming down, wiping tears from his eyes, he’d said, “yeah. mate. you’re getting ghosted.”

ghosted. aspen hated that word. it implied intention. malice. the quiet cruelty of a read receipt. why would you ghost him? all he’d done was explain the design he wanted for a simple house. reasonable. restrained. elegant.

a three-story manor with thirteen bedrooms, fifteen bathrooms, six living rooms, a large kitchen, a smaller kitchen, a larger kitchen (for balance), an underground level that’s a cellar but also sort of a speakeasy vibe, make it look old-ish but still structurally modern, add an elevator but hide it so it doesn’t ruin the aesthetic, a theatre room, a room for his cat and her kittens with natural light and soundproofing because they’re sensitive, a—

… yeah.

perfectly normal.

and now here he is, zoning out at a party again, thoughts circling like moths around a bare bulb until raj elbows him in the chest, hard enough to knock the air straight out of his lungs. not really, but he’s theatric

aspen bows forward dramatically. “what the hell, mate!”

“you what the hell, penny,” raj shoots back, eyebrow raised. “seriously. stop sulking and zoning out. you look like a kicked puppy in a tux.”

aspen is not sulking.

okay. maybe he’s sulking a little. but you’re ignoring his calls and texts, and he’s ninety percent sure you’ve blocked him, and it really doesn’t help that you were downright gorgeous and he may want to take you out to dinner, and christ, now he’s beginning to hallucinate you at the party-

… no.

no, that’s definitely you.

standing by the drinks table like you belong there, like you belong everywhere. and, fuck, you look even better now than you did that day. it makes sense you’d be here-this is cecilia’s party, and cecy knows everyone. still. rude.

“hey! you! miss!” aspen calls suddenly, volume pitched somewhere between confidence and panic.

you glance back. you definitely glance back.

so why are you turning away?

absolutely not.

“what the…” aspen mutters. raj snorts, about to tell him to let it go, but aspen is already gone, pushing through people, apologising on autopilot, determination thrumming through him.

he finally catches up, fingers closing around your wrist. it takes exactly one second for his brain to catch up to his body.

he jerks his hand away. “woah, sorry. god. sorry. that was-yeah. sorry. no! shit. why are you avoiding me?”