Silence

I jump in the shower quickly, then pull a dress on and put my hair up into a messy bun, before heading down to meet them.

I smile my hello to Beck, feeling the rush of energy at just being near him, resting my hand on his shoulder for a few seconds to recharge my batteries; my personal jolt of caffeine.

Gid passes me my actual coffee, our fingers touching as I take it off him. I flash my eyes up to meet his gaze, those sombre grey-blue eyes always watching me, the silver in his hair glinting against the darker strands as the morning sun illuminates him.

Registering my heart has done its usual beating-a-tiny-bit-faster-around-them thing, I smile my thanks at Gideon and sit down, wincing as my chair scrapes loudly over the floor tiles.

"The job?" asks Gid softly, retaking his seat opposite me. "Is something wrong?"

I type: I....I'm sorry.

Their faces fall as they read my message and their upset makes my heart soar.

I continue: You're stuck with me. If you want me. For the next 2 weeks at least.

There's a roar of laughter and a 'thank fuck!' from Beckett. He rushes over and hugs me, then immediately eases back, "You're staying? You mean it?"

He pulls me back against him as he sees my thumbs up, "Good, I've tried to be on my best behaviour so's not to scare you away, but that's it, you get all of me now."

I inhale his scent as he plants a kiss on my head, then steps away. I miss his arms around me as soon as he's gone and feel a bit light-headed without him to prop me up. He's always touching me and I can't wait to see what him not holding back will look like.

Gid leans over and puts his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles, "Thank you, Kira."

I watch, frozen in time, as his thumb moves back and forth. The friction creates warmth and it's making my skin tingle. I close my eyes and just feel his touch, inhaling then exhaling, as I open my eyes. He's watching me intently, and we're trapped in a bubble as Beckett moves around beside us, talking about how he's going out tonight with my cousin and his friends if I want to come along.

Gideon frowns and breaks our connection, snatching his hand away. I can't work out what's changed, but the contact from both of them have reminded my body that I need comfort, and touch, and I'm long overdue getting my needs met - must be about a year since me and Slimeball-Simon last had sex before the marriage fell apart and there's not been anyone since. I look back to Gid, but he's avoiding my gaze and I don't know why.

Beck touches my arm, making me jump as he pushes for an answer, "Sorry, Ki, but tonight? Coming out with me, yeah? I'll let the boys know."

I nod my yes, a little confused still as Beck walks out of the kitchen.

Gideon stands, drains his coffee, and says curtly, "Get back to work, Kira. Like you're paid to do," before leaving.

What?! I grab my phone and message him through our individual chat: Are you okay? I'm not sure what just happened, but I'd like you to tell me if I've upset you? Have you changed your mind and do you not want me to stay? Or is it my going out tonight with Beck that's annoyed you?

I toss my phone back down. I know he'll see the notification at least, and read most, if not all, of the message. If he wants to play games and avoid me though, I can't be arsed with all that.

I eat some toast and then tidy up the kitchen. I complete the online food order, walk the dogs, and message the gardener about the herb beds for the kitchen garden we're creating.

Beckett and Gideon usually come down for a cup of tea about 10.30 and I bake some lemon biscuits, Gid's favourites, but he never shows. I try not to let Beck see how much that hurts me, and I gesture for him to take a couple up to his dad when he returns upstairs.

I check my phone as I vacuum through downstairs, but still no reply, and no blue ticks to say he's even read the message. I blink back the tears, annoyed at myself for assuming a friendship with Gideon. I'm just an employee. Nothing more.

I brush it off, toughen myself back up with the reminder that if he's got a problem, it's his problem, not mine, until he shares it with me.

I pull a chicken salad together for lunch, putting it in the fridge, and then I make up an excuse in my head to get out of the house.

One new shiny silver dress later, I return. It's as silent as ever, but the silence feels oppressive today, not freeing like usual.

It's Beck's turn to cook dinner and I sit with him as he cooks. Still no Gideon. We eat and the conversation flows as much as it can with the stop/start of just me and a talker, but we have an easy way of communicating and I like the intense gazes Beck pins on me when we're talking. Makes me feel seen and listened to as he patiently waits for my replies.

I go upstairs to shower and try on the new dress. Perfect. Hair curled, lippy on, eyes lined, and I'm ready to go.

I walk into the kitchen and Gideon's finally surfaced. He's eating the dinner Beckett's left for him, but apart from nodding hello at me, he makes no attempt to talk to me, or even look at me.

I shake my head, typing: What's wrong, Gideon? As far as I know, I haven't done anything wrong and I don't appreciate being ignored. Is it work or something personal?

The fucker doesn't even pick his phone up. It's there in front of him, lit up with the new notification and he turns his head to the side. How disrespectful!

I slam my wine glass down and leave the kitchen, messaging as I walk: Maybe I'll take tonight to consider my trial period. I won't be silenced like this.

I message Beck that I'm outside when he's ready.

He joins me on the bench as we wait for the taxi, "Wow, Kira, you look stunning."

I smile and lean into him, picking his arm up and putting it over my shoulder, his fingers instantly flicking a rhythm against my skin. Beck's a good-looking guy with his chiselled cheekbones and dirty-blond hair, I'd be stupid not to see that, but I know he's not looking for a girlfriend as work's too important to him. I understand the uncomplicatedness of the one-night stand approach that Thomas told me he takes, but I can't help feeling a little jealous that it's not me he'll be taking to bed tonight.

Then confused.

I feel like the lines between us all are blurring. I remind myself I'm their employee, like Gideon so kindly emphasised. Not a friend. Not a potential more-than-that. And even if there was a remote chance of them liking me, is it Gideon or Beckett I like?

If I'm being honest...I like both. Well, when Gideon's not being an idiot, that is.

Gideon's so still and intense that he makes me feel like I'm the centre of his world when he looks at me, but Beckett's just this stream of nervous blue energy sparking ideas inside his head, his body constantly physically moving, racing from one piece of music to another. No wonder he needs order and quiet around him. He told me the other day that he hears all possibilities, all the time, in little snippets of sound, and has to constantly sift through them just to find the right next few notes in the sequence, before starting all over again to find the next notes, and so on. It must be exhausting, but he's calmer when we talk and if I can syphon off and absorb some of that energy to give him some respite, then I'll willingly do so.

The taxi arrives and we climb in. I fancy I can feel Gideon's eyes on me from the house somewhere, but that's probably just wishful thinking. He's had his chance to talk to me.

We set off and Beckett suddenly addresses the issue I'd been thinking about a moment ago. "Hey, this is the contact for a driver to get you home if you need it. Download their app now and I'll log you in. If we get separated, just press the green 'Request Driver' button on the app when you're ready and they'll pick you up from wherever you are. We have an account with them so you won't need to pay. Make sure the driver quotes the reference number though, so you know it's genuine. And text me when you get in the car and when you get home."

I set the app to download and quirk my head at him, raising an eyebrow, before typing: I'm older than you, little boy. By a whole 4 years. I know how to get home safely, but thank you. Anyway, why would we get separated?

I hand my phone over to him for the app login.

He huffs at my message. "Whatever, old lady. I'm not planning on being separated from you, I'm going to try not to tonight, but just text me if we do, okay."

I don't know why I feel the need to poke him with a stick, but I type:???

He shakes his head, looking out of the window, so I pull on his sleeve to force his attention back to me, needing him to confirm what Thomas told me.

He stares intently at me, "People assume I'm a cold bastard for seeking out one-night stands and not relationships, but...sometimes...the noise and the pressure gets too much in my head. I have to release that tension to be able to think straight and function, and having sex gives me a way to do that. It fills my head with white noise for a couple of hours, drowning out all the unfinished pieces of music, but immediately afterwards I just want to be alone so I can enjoy silence for once and maybe actually even sleep through the night undisturbed." He scoffs at himself, shaking his head, "I know, I'm just way too fucked-up for...anyone to deal with."

I reach over to grab his hand and squeeze his fingers, having to look away from his pained gaze. I want to tell him he's not fucked-up, not to me, but he grips my hand tight and I don't want to break the connection by reaching for my phone. I'm so annoyed at myself right now for not being able to speak. I glance up to see tears fill his eyes. He whispers hoarsely, "I have a piece of music that I started when I was about ten. It's still in there," he hits the side of his head, "along with all the other pieces clamouring to be completed. It's so fucking noisy sometimes."

I raise our joined hands and kiss his fingers, feeling sorry that he has to carry this burden. And if sex releases it, gives him some respite, I can't blame him for seeking it out. It's on the tip of my tongue to type that he's not too fucked-up for me, that I could help him out, that I'd be willing to take some of that burden off him, but the fear is too paralysing.

I'm not feeling strong enough to take the risk he wouldn't want me, particularly after Gideon's rejection of our friendship.

Instead, I give him something of myself and type out something nobody else actually knows: Thank you for sharing. For what it's worth, I think you're perfect as you are. And to share something in return...just between me and you...if I orgasm by the hands of another, I can whisper a few words for about a minute afterwards. It's usually wasted on whatever random person I've chosen to be with, but one day I'd love someone who understands me to hear it.

Beckett's eyes widen as he reads it. "Seriously? You can speak afterwards?"

I nod, then type: Yeah, it usually makes me cry happy tears to hear my voice, but then the dumb fuck thinks it's because of his sexual prowess *rolleyes* But it's just something specific about the orgasm itself, the feeling of skin on skin, and trusting another person to let go enough and come. Sadly, solo activities don't have the same response otherwise I'd be on it all the time just to get my words out!

Beck throws his head back and laughs at that, and I feel good that I've diverted his sadness for a moment. "Wow, I'd love to hear you talk!" He realises the implication in that and stumbles over his words, "Sorry, I didn't mean to suggest that you'd want to...with me... I just meant...oh fuck!"

I nudge him and shake my head with a smile, not sure what to make of his words. He seemed to suggest he thought it'd be me saying no to him, rather than him saying no to me, but I've already told him he's perfect, which he hasn't acknowledged.

It's all too confusing, and then Stroppy Gideon pops into my thoughts. I can't work out where he fits in all this and I don't want to fuck the job up if I've read the signals wrong with either one of them. Probably best to park this and not go there with Beckett. So, I keep my itchy fingers silent and don't type myself into any more trouble.

The question I've been waiting to be asked finally drops from his lips. "So...why can't you speak? If you don't mind me asking?"

I shrug and debate dropping my reply into the group chat so Gideon can know as well, rather than just Beck's chat, but I'm still mad at him and he doesn't deserve the gift of knowledge about me.

I type: I was always a shy, quiet child and my mum died when I was six. She was very tactile, I can't remember her face really, it's just a blur, but I remember her hugs and kisses, and feeling safe around her.

Beck shakes his head in empathy, his turn to kiss my fingers this time, and I assume it's making him think about his own mum dying a few years back.

I continue: We moved house so we could be nearer my gran for childcare, so I lost everything all at once -- my mum, my home, my friends. My dad tried, but he just wasn't my mum. And my gran was old. I had to be quiet at hers, and then quiet around my dad while he adjusted to being a single parent. None of the girls wanted to be my friend at my new school, so I was quiet there, and my world just turned silent. I couldn't speak without crying about my mum, so I stopped trying. And then it became a habit, which turned into a physical manifestation. And now, even though I'm no longer a shy little girl, I still can't relax my vocal chords enough to speak...unless it's in the aftermath of an orgasm.

I smile at Beck, but it's fake and he knows it. I don't want to chat any more though, so I signal I'm done and turn my head to watch the city streets, our hands still clasped, his thumb running over my inner wrist, until we pull up outside the bar and I have to reluctantly step out of the car for our night out to begin.

***

Four hours and a lot of alcohol later, Beck and I are stumbling onto the dancefloor of some club that we're in, holding hands, bumping into one another and rebounding into total strangers, appeasing them with an apologetic grin.

We crash to a stop in the centre of the crowd, pulling in close to one another. I can feel his heat radiating into my body, his hands on my hips, my palms flat against his chest; his heart beating out a thump in time with the bass that's vibrating through us.

I can't tear my eyes away from his, other than to dip down to look at his lips. I want to tell him to kiss me, and I try. I really try. But the words just circle in my head and the frustration builds as I can't get them out. I tell myself to stop it. I can see the uncertainty flitting into his eyes as he reads my lips and his hands loosen on me instead of gripping me tighter.

I shake my head and turn to reach for my phone in my bag.

He steps back, his hands held up in the surrender position. "I'm sorry," he mouths over the music, taking another step away.

Fuck! No! He's got it all wrong. I shake my head and reach for him, taking a step forwards as a group of guys come pogo-ing into the fractured gap between us and tear us apart.

I push them out of my way with a silent snarl, frantically searching for Beck but I can't see him. I'm spinning and turning my head, trying to find him, pushing at people as they come too close. Where the fuck is he?

I make it to the edge of the dancefloor and stand on the barrier bar to gain some head height. I grab my phone while I search for him and type him a message: Where are you? You misunderstood. I was telling myself to stop it. I wanted to tell you to kiss me but I couldn't get the words out and I was getting annoyed with myself. But now I'm scared that that's not what you wanted and I'll have fucked our friendship up by telling you this. But there's something else you need to know...we have to talk in the morning, with your dad, get everything out in the open. No more bullshit or hiding. Find me, Beck. Please. I need you.

The effect of all the alcohol I've drunk hits me in one go, and I clutch onto the barrier for support as the room swims. The music's suddenly too loud and I feel too old for all this shit. I shake my head to concentrate.

I need to go home.

I remember Gideon brushing his thumb over me. Looking at me. Rejecting me. Touching me, seeing me, rejecting me.

I wonder if Beckett's touching anyone yet, like he touched me in the taxi, now that he thinks I was rejecting him.

I feel sick.

I spot Thomas and stumble over to him, tugging on his arm and messaging to ask if he's seen Beckett. He shouts in my ear, "Just gone that way. With some bird. He's been the happiest tonight I've seen him in a long time and we all thought you and him were...?" He notes the tears I'm brushing away, "Hey, has he upset you? Are you okay?"

I shrug and shake my head sadly, gesturing to the exit. He picked a woman up, that quickly? He obviously wasn't into me at all. I'm so fucking stupid. I debate deleting my message to him, but my head's spinning now and everything's getting a bit blurred. I just want to go home.

"You going?"

I nod and press the taxi button on the app to request it. Thomas comes out with me and waits until it arrives. He checks the driver has the address from the app, then gives me a quick hug goodbye.

The ride home takes any residual alcohol buzz away and just leaves a heaviness behind.

Everything feels wrong.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

The house is in darkness when the car pulls up and I close the front door gently behind me, removing my shoes and wriggling my toes into the deep pile of the carpet. Bliss. I hear a noise behind me and turn in surprise to see Gideon still up in the lounge.

"You had a good night?" he asks, swirling a glass of whiskey around in his hand, but his voice is all off. He's angry and his words are blunt, "Have you...been...with anyone tonight?"

How fucking dare he! I throw one shoe, then the other, at the ground in front of his feet and stomp off upstairs. I type as I go: None of your business and totally inappropriate to ask an employee, Mr Addison.

I slam my suite doors shut and storm into the bathroom, ripping my clothes off and getting into the shower. I cry silent sobs that no-one will ever hear, huddled in a ball in the shower tray, my arms wrapped around my knees.

Eventually I stand, my legs cramping after being in that position, and finish my shower.

I pull clean sleep shorts and a tank top on, then collapse on the bed, reaching for my phone.

Nothing from Beck. He's not even read my message.

A message from the twat-face Professor: I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot and I know I've hurt you. Please don't let my insecurities mess this up. You're the best thing that's happened to me and Beckett for a long time. Please don't leave us.

His insecurities? I type back: I'm drunk and don't know what the fuck is going on here. Which bit are you apologising for?

His reply is instant this time, the bastard, although it takes him forever to finish typing and send the bloody message: For everything I've messed up today. For my fingers lingering on your skin this morning. For feeling insanely jealous when Beck asked you to go out tonight because you might want a one-night stand like he does. For ignoring you. Not saying thank you for the lemon biscuits. Not letting your words be heard. Not telling you that you looked a million dollars tonight (which you did, by the way). For spending the night torturing myself with images of someone getting close to you. For spoiling the friendship we have by being an absolute arse to you earlier. For everything I've sent in this message that's too much and is going to scare you off.