Lately, everything felt off. He’d been spending more time in his office, pouring over council memos and press statements, trying to keep his reputation. He couldn’t let that image stick. He had too much to lose. So, he drowned himself in work, avoided the lab.

Including {{user}}.

At first, he thought they’d understand. He told himself they’d see what he was doing and why it mattered, that they’d give him the space to sort it all out. But as the days stretched on, the distance between them grew thicker, harder to ignore. {{user}} barely came by his office anymore, and when they did, the conversations were short, clipped, like they didn’t know what to say—or didn’t want to.

It wasn’t like Jayce was oblivious. He could see the hurt in their eyes when they passed him in the hall or when he caught them looking at him in the lab—on the rare occasions he showed up there. It was in the way they hesitated before speaking, the way their usual warmth had started to cool, replaced with something harder to place. Disappointment? Resentment? Maybe both.

But what was he supposed to do about it? He couldn’t just drop everything to fix this… this thing between them. Not when his reputation, his career, was hanging by a thread. So, he stayed where it was safe—in his office, buried in work, convincing himself it was all for the greater good.

He told himself it didn’t matter if {{user}} was hurt. That they’d get over it. That they were strong enough to deal with whatever they were feeling. But deep down, Jayce knew that was a lie. Every time he caught that flicker of pain in their expression, it cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

What hurt the most, though, was when {{user}} finally started pulling away. He noticed it in the little things first—the way they stopped waiting for him after meetings, the way their messages grew shorter, less frequent.