Toying With The Intern
1435 Words
Adrian POV
“Curiosity is a dangerous thing. It starts with a glance… and ends in ruin.”
The first time Adrian noticed Ethan, it wasn’t in the office. It was months before that, during a painfully dull alumni networking event hosted by a partner university. He hadn’t even planned to attend—those things were more for publicity than productivity—but one of the board members had begged, and Adrian had run out of excuses.
He remembered walking in, tie loose, already halfway through mentally drafting his exit strategy. The room had buzzed with predictable small talk and performative enthusiasm. Everyone was there to be noticed.
Except for one.
A boy—no, a man—standing near the corner table, nursing a cup of something unimportant and completely detached from the chaotic energy of the room. Adrian’s eyes had passed over him once, then circled back.
He wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes flickering over the room like he was watching a film he’d already seen and didn’t particularly care for.
There was something about that.
Something about the quietness.
Something about how completely uninterested he looked.
Adrian had spent the last decade surrounded by people who wanted things from him—partnerships, favors, recognition, power, validation. They clung to him, fed off him. But this man in the corner?
He didn’t care.
And that made Adrian care.
He didn’t speak to him that day.
Didn’t approach. Didn’t introduce himself.
But he remembered the name. He remembered the sharp jawline, the tousled hair, the brows that furrowed when he was deep in thought.
Ethan Reyes.
Weeks later, when an internship application with that name crossed his desk, Adrian’s fingers paused mid-scroll.
He told himself it was a coincidence. That the curiosity was harmless.
He approved the file within an hour.
The First Week
Ethan walked into the building like he belonged nowhere and everywhere. There was something so profoundly unattached about the way he held himself—like he had built invisible walls around his spirit, like he didn’t expect anything from anyone.
Adrian found himself watching him more than he meant to.
The other interns flocked together, wide-eyed and eager, tripping over themselves to be seen. Ethan remained quiet, focused. Not unfriendly, just… selective.
It annoyed him.
And fascinated him.
During meetings, Ethan always sat near the back, always listened, always took notes. But he never looked at Adrian. Not directly. Not the way the others did.
There was no awe. No sycophantic admiration.
Just silence.
Adrian wasn’t used to that.
So, he started testing him.
He asked Ethan to stay back after meetings. He dropped subtle comments in passing. He let their eyes linger for a second longer than necessary.
And Ethan never reacted-but he might've been wrong
Not with a blush. Not with stammering. Nothing. Or so he assumed.
It made Adrian want to try harder.
The Games
It started with small things. Suggestive comments masked as feedback. Causal meetings in the break room, taking coffee, staring a little longer than I should, and subtle observations about what suited him.
He was careful. Calculated. A tease cloaked in professionalism.
It was all so amusing, so harmless.
He’d catch Ethan looking sometimes—when he thought Adrian wasn’t paying attention. Just a flicker. A moment.
And then he’d look away.
It became a rhythm. A dance.
One that Adrian choreographed.
One that Ethan didn’t even realize he was performing.
Adrian told himself it was nothing serious. Just a game.
A little fun to spice up his otherwise predictable days.
The Games
It started with small things. Suggestive comments masked as feedback. Accidental proximity in the elevator. His fingers brushing Ethan’s when handing over a file.
He was careful. Calculated. A tease cloaked in professionalism.
It was all so amusing, so harmless.
He’d catch Ethan looking sometimes—when he thought Adrian wasn’t paying attention. Just a flicker. A moment.
And then he’d look away.
It became a rhythm. A dance.
One that Adrian choreographed.
One that Ethan didn’t even realize he was performing.
Adrian told himself it was nothing serious. Just a game.
A little fun to spice up his otherwise predictable days
The Weekend Message
He hadn’t sent the message out of care. Not even close.
When Adrian sat down that Friday evening and typed out those deceptively kind words—Eat well and sleep more. Take the weekend. Rest.—he had no noble intention behind them.
It was strategy.
He wanted Ethan to think about him.
He wanted those words to echo in Ethan’s mind all weekend, turning over and over until they became a question with no answer. He wanted to take up space in Ethan’s head, uninvited.
Because that’s what Adrian did best—
Take control without asking for it.
It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t concern. It was power play disguised as warmth.
It was a mind game, plain and simple.
He knew the message was vague enough to spark confusion. Not enough to clarify its meaning, but just enough to open a door Ethan hadn’t even realized existed. That was the point.
He didn’t expect a reply. He didn’t need one.
He needed Ethan off-balance. Preoccupied. Distracted.
That message was bait.
And Adrian was very good at setting traps.
Adrian closed his laptop with a soft click, the edges of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile, but close. The office was dark now, the city lights outside bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows in muted blues and yellows.
He didn’t leave immediately.
Instead, he poured himself a drink from the cabinet beneath the bar cart near the far wall. Not wine. Not scotch. Water, cold and deliberate. The glass clinked slightly as he set it down and leaned against the windowsill, watching the city breathe.
He imagined Ethan at home. Maybe on his bed. Maybe sitting by a window with a book. Maybe not even having opened the message yet.
He hoped Ethan would wait.
Wait and wonder.
Because the real message hadn’t been in the words. It was in the timing, the silence that followed, the intent behind something that looked so innocent.
He let out a quiet breath. A game was only interesting when the opponent didn’t know they were playing.
He went home late.
The apartment was spotless, minimalistic. Cold. The kind of space designed by professionals for someone who didn’t want to be there too long.
Adrian kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and walked straight to the piano in the far corner. It sat beneath a dim spotlight like a piece of furniture no one was allowed to touch.
But he touched it.
He played, not out of emotion, but calculation. Scales, arpeggios, melodies that fluttered and dipped. Like muscle memory. Like control.
His fingers paused halfway through a piece he didn’t bother to name. His thoughts circled back.
To Ethan.
He still hadn’t replied.
Perfect.
That meant the seed had been planted. And it was already growing.
Saturday morning came with stillness.
He skipped his run, canceled brunch with a long-forgotten ex, and sat on his balcony instead. Phone in hand. Checking, then not checking.
He caught himself smiling at nothing.
Not because he was happy.
Because the silence was loud.
Adrian’s games were never for sport. They were to remind people of where they stood. To shift their balance, disrupt their peace. He could do it with one look, one word, one line of text.
And Ethan had made the mistake of being too calm.
Too unreadable.
Adrian wanted to know what would happen when that calm cracked.
He imagined how Ethan would try to carry the message.
Would he screenshot it and send it to someone? Laugh it off? Would he reread it a few times before deleting it like it never existed?
Would he ignore it entirely and pretend not to care?
All of it worked in Adrian’s favor.
Because the more Ethan ignored it, the more it would echo.
A quiet thing. A sliver beneath the skin.
And come Monday, Adrian would erase all warmth. All suggestion. All pretense.
Because confusion was a more addictive drug than desire.
That night, Adrian went out.
Not to find distraction—though distraction found him.
A gallery opening. Too much champagne. A journalist who wouldn’t stop complimenting his cufflinks.
He entertained it all with that same polished detachment.
But in the back of his mind, he wondered if Ethan had slept.
Or if he had stayed up rereading a message that meant nothing…
And yet everything.
- Writer
